


On The Other Side

by crowleyhasfeels, QuillsAndInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gore, Letters, Loneliness, M/M, Professor!Cas, Sad, Sexuality Issues, Slow Burn, Soldier!Dean, Sweet, burn victim, future sexytimes, poor self image
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 63,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyhasfeels/pseuds/crowleyhasfeels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillsAndInk/pseuds/QuillsAndInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While deployed in Afghanistan, Dean Winchester writes letters to a girl who he's certain isn't listening. By chance, they are found by Professor Castiel Novak who takes the time to reply. Thus begins the tale of a man dragged back from the brink of destruction by the shattered pieces of one person he doesn't know how to love. This is a story of brokenness, love and triumph. This is the story of Dean and Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to crowleyhasfeels to agreeing to this co-op story! This first chapter is by them, and please, go check out their other work. It's amazing as well!  
> ~Quills

* * *

 

On The Other Side

 _The empty page before me now,_  
_The pen is in my hand._  
_The words don’t come so easy,_  
_But I’m trying._  
_I'm searching for a melody,_  
_Or some forgotten line,_  
_They can slip away from us so quickly._  
~On The Other Side, Kansas

 

In the past seven months, Dean had written Lisa approximately twenty letters. They had been dating for two years and with his entire family gone, she was all that Dean had. She replied to the first three letters, all impersonal and distant, but Dean brushed it off as her not being good at writing letters. After the third, the letters stopped. Deep down he knew that she had chosen to move on and not telling him was easier but that did not make it hurt any less. So his letters began to change.  
  
_Hey Lis,_  
_I’m not even sure why I am writing this letter to you. You haven’t responded to any of the other letters that I’ve written, except for the first three. I am going to take that as a sign that we are no longer together. Don’t worry. I understand. I wasn't that attentive of a person when I was home and now I actually can’t be there for you in the way that you need. I'm okay with your choice to end it, even if you can’t tell me the words yourself._

_I miss you. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear right now. I don’t really have anyone else to talk to and so you end up getting to be that person. You can even stop reading right now and I wouldn't know the difference, so I may as well say the things that I’ve wanted to say, in hope that maybe my words are heard._

_People here are good people, but I can’t seem to really get close to any of them. You would think that if these people are willing to lay their lives on the line for me, I’d be able to have some sort of normal conversation with them. I can only talk so much though, before I run out of small talk and have to get into the deeper conversations. I’m not good at deep conversations with people I don’t know. You know that. It took me almost a year to even start telling you about my family and even then I was stand offish. I wish that I would have told you more and let you in. You deserved to be in. I’m sorry I did not let you in._

_I hope that you are enjoying life and that you find someone who will treat you well._  
 _Dean_  
  
Even with the letter acknowledging that they were over, Dean did not get a response in return. He knew that he should have let it be at this point, but once again, he found himself with a piece of paper and pen in hand. If he didn't get these things out, they would eat him from the inside. He was fighting a war right now, the last thing he needed were internal battles weighing him down even further.  
  
_Hey Lis,_  
_I hope that life is going good for you. I wish I could say that it’s good for me, but I don’t even know if I am up for lying at this point. But I really hope that life is good for you, I mean really good. You deserve really good. I am sorry that I was never good enough for you._  
Dean  
  
Dean looked down at the letter and crumpled it up. He hoped that life was good for her? They had been together for two whole years and she couldn’t just break up with him in a decent way? Dean knew he wasn't the best boyfriend in the world but something in him believed he deserved better than that. He didn’t deserve a lot, but he deserved a semi proper breakup.

 _Hey Lis,_  
 _I know you’re tired of getting these letters. I’m not even sure why I keep sending them. What do you care, really? Was there someone else in your life? Someone who was better than me enough to deserve your attention? I mean, I know that I’m kind of a dick and that I could have paid more attention to you, but you weren’t that great either. You were always working and spending time with your friends. It was always about going out and doing what you wanted to do. I’m not great in crowds of people. You always wanted crowds of people. Maybe that was you trying to get rid of me long ago.  
Dean_  
  
Dean folded up the new letter and sealed it shut. If this letter didn't get a response out of her, then nothing would. And obviously, nothing would. Dean waited three weeks this time and there was still no response. So he decided to write one more goodbye letter. Not for her but as closure for himself.  
  
_Fuck you Lis,_  
I _get it. We’re not together. But how hard is it to write a letter? I would go for anything really at this point. Tell me how much you hate me or what a dick I was to you. Tell me anything. What is the fucking weather like? Did that loud guy that lives downstairs ever move or is he still making way too much noise during the night? Have you been into the Roadhouse? I tried to write Ellen and Jo but I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it. I’ll get around to it. I hope they’re okay. Have you even thought about me?_

 _Please. I just need something to hold onto, even if it is just a piece of paper with no meaning behind it. Was I not good enough for even that?_  
Dean  
  
If Dean was not surrounded by other men, he would cry. He wasn't a big crier, but he finally had absolutely nothing left. There was nothing for him to go home to. He was in the middle of a war and the only though he had left was _how great it is going to feel when I die._

 


	2. Chapter 2

The apartment was small. But it was fully furnished and the best Professor Castiel Novak could afford. He was new to Kansas, and just starting a job at the University of Kansas in Lawrence. Seeking a place to stay, Castiel had come across the sale of an apartment. The rent was cheap and the woman habiting it previously was desperate to leave, even without most of her belongings. Castiel could relate to her exodus. He himself was trying to find a new start.

The year prior, Castiel’s older brother, Michael, hanged himself, leaving Castiel the last member of the Novak clan. His step-siblings had all estranged themselves from the family after his mother and step-father died in car crash. Castiel was all alone.

Oh, he’d had boyfriends. Even moved in with last one. But Balthazar was a cheater and Alastair was a beater; Castiel knew it was time for him to move on. And so, here he was. In a new apartment, in a new town, teaching poetry at a new university. It was stable, steady and beautifully monotonous, just as Castiel had hoped.

But then the letters began to arrive and everything changed.

It all started with one. One cream white envelope covered with little smatterings of dirt, tucked in a nest of junk mail. _Lisa Braedon_ was scrawled across its front. The handwriting was slanted and messy. Castiel thought it looked fervent. Frantic. Like the writer was begging someone to listen. Castiel studied the name written on the envelope. He vaguely remembered it being the name of the woman who previously lived in the apartment. Castiel bit his lip. Tomorrow he’d try to track down Lisa Braedon and get her the letter. Gently, so as not to disturb the contents, Castiel placed the letter neatly on the coffee table and went to bed.

The next morning, Castiel made himself some coffee and stared at the envelope. Curiosity nagged at the back of his mind, but resolutely refused to open the letter. As much as it would satisfy some questions, he would be overwhelmed with the guilt of invading someone’s privacy. So, he went to work. He lectured on T.S. Elliot. He assigned his students to read The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock and worked on his schedule for the rest of the week.

That evening, Castiel was once again faced with the envelope on his coffee table. He considered the best plot of action. Should he try to contact Lisa Braeden or the sender? Some D. Winchester, according to the letter. In the end, Castiel decided to talk to his landlord.

He was an old, bald gentleman with patches of whiskers hanging from his quivering jowls. Despite his haggard appearance, he was generally affable. Castiel took an immediate liking to him.

“Now whatcha wanna know that fer, Castle?” He asked when Castiel inquired Lisa Braedon’s whereabouts.

“Cas-tee-el.” Came the automatic correction.

“Eh?”

“Never mind. A letter addressed to her arrived. I want to get it back to her.”

“She left th’ state, I reckon.” _Of course_ , Castiel thought in annoyance .

“Do you know where she went?”

“Nah. She went to be with some fella.” The landlord shook his head emphatically.

“Do you know know who sent the letters?” Castiel was becoming increasingly frustrated.

“Well, Clarence, I reckon Ms. Braedon’s boyfriend.” Castiel’s heart ached for the sender.

“It's Castiel. Do you know where he is? This uh….D. Winchester?”

“He’s a so’dier. He's deployed somewhere, but I don't know where, I reckon that ain't none of my business.” The landlord sat back. “I'm ‘fraid that's all I know, son.” Castiel nodded disappointedly.

“Do you at least know the boyfriend’s name?”

“Dan? Derek? Maybe Dalton?” The landlord shook his head.

“Thanks for your help.”

“Any time, Crispin.”

In the next weeks, Castiel received four more letters. He looked in phone books for the name Lisa Braedon, but she had disappeared off the face of the Earth, or so it seemed. Castiel even searched his apartment for a clue, but none revealed themselves.

After the fifth letter he received, Castiel caved. Perhaps he at least could offer the sender a little respite.

So, early one Saturday morning, Castiel opened the letters. He made sure only to pop the seals, and not rip the envelopes. What Castiel discovered within them made him ache with something he didn't understand. The sender (whose name was Dean) sounded so lonely. The letters made it clear he expected no reply. He was just reaching out for something, anything. And Castiel, though he spent his life surrounded by words, could not find a name for what Dean sought. Nor could he understand the strange discomfort he got from the letters.

All he knew was his heart broke when Dean begged for answers as to the wellness of two women working at somewhere called The Roadhouse. If the landlord was right and Dean was a soldier, than he would more than likely be deployed in Afghanistan. Afghanistan meant combat. But Dean still found it in him to care about these two women. Castiel bit his lip. Perhaps he could ease the soldier’s worries.

It took two hours for Castiel to get dressed and ready. He threw his tan overcoat around his shoulders, got into his old junker and began to scour the city for The Roadhouse. It didn't take him long to find. And upon sight, he understood why the soldier liked the place. The old bar had a sort of gruff proudness about it. When he entered he was greeted by a young blonde woman.

“How can I help?” She asked. Her tone was flirtatious but Castiel got the feeling she didn't mean it.

“Yes, I'm looking for a lady by the name of Jo?” The girl arched an eyebrow.

“You’re looking at her.”

“And, by chance, is Ellen in?”

“No. Not right now. Who are you? What do you want?”

“How are you both? Are you quite well?” Jo narrowed her eyes.

“Yeah.” Castiel gave her a brisk nod.

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave. Thank you.” Castiel turned to leave.

“Hey, wait a second, mister!” Jo called, "Can I at least have your name?” He paused.

“Castiel.” He left the bar.

When Castiel returned home, he immediately stripped off his overcoat, reached for a piece of paper and pen and wrote his response to the soldier.

_Dear Mr. Winchester,  
My name is Castiel Novak. I live in what I assume to be your girlfriend’s old apartment. She has left the state. I tried to find her and get your letters to her, but I was unsuccessful. _

_I apologize for invading your privacy, but I did read the letters. I'm incredibly sorry for Lisa’s lack of response to you. I hope you can find a friend to confide in.  
The landlord explained that you were a soldier. I must say, thank you for your service. The sights you must bear witness to on a daily basis have to be horrific. I hope they help you cope with them. _

_This may have been presumptuous of me, but I took the liberty of finding The Roadhouse. I spoke with Jo and inquired about Ellen. According to her, they’re both doing all right._  
_Thank you again, and I'm so sorry,  
Castiel_

Castiel sealed and sent the letter. He felt better knowing Dean at least would have a response. With that, Castiel did his best to return to the dullness of his new life. If only it was so simple.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Two people died today. Dean figured by now he would get used to seeing people die. He had witnessed his mother die in a fire, he had watched his father drink himself to death and he had watched the lights shut off in Sammy’s eyes when he let go in that hospital room. Yet, with all the death that he had seen, it never seemed to get easier. All it did was show Dean glimpses of his future. Maybe like the rest of his family, he was meant to die. This was just a long, drawn out mission from the fates to kill him. _I’m right here you sons of bitches, come and get me._ Dean thought to himself every night before he closed his eyes. He just wanted it to be over.

_Maybe tomorrow,_ Dean shook his head as he sat down to eat what little bit of food they received at mealtime. It was never substantial enough to get rid of that hunger but it kept them alive and gave them what they needed to keep going. It was never about making their life happy, just survivable.

 “Winchester.” Dean lifted his head and scoured the area around him to find out where the voice was coming from. Finally it landed on Jones, the guy that handed out the mail. Jones had never talked to Dean before, because Dean never got mail. So why had he bothered calling his name out now?

“Winchester?”

Dean stood himself up and made his way over to Jones, who handed him an envelope and walked away. He didn't even bother to make a semblance of small talk with Dean. Handing out the mail must make him think that he was better than the rest of them. Maybe he was.His job sure was a lot less dangerous than the one that the rest of them did. Dean learned that the less danger you were in, the more important you were. He was always in constant danger. His life meant nothing. He was just a shield to all of the higher ups.

_D. Winchester_

That was him. Why would someone be writing him a letter? Enthusiastically, Dean looked up to the sender. It was from Lisa’s address but unfortunately, it did not have Lisa’s name listed. _Great._ Dean shook his head and almost threw the letter out. Lisa probably had some new boyfriend who was sick of her getting letters from Dean and decided to take matters into his own hands. _Just read it so you can move on._

Dean hated that he was curious. He knew he should have just tossed the letter and got back to his … whatever it was he was doing. Fighting some war just for the hopes that he will get caught in the crossfire and die. Dean was not one to believe in God or the Devil, but he hoped that wherever he ended up, he would get to see his family again. He would give anything to see Sam, even his own life.

Dean decided to read the letter but he waited until he was in bed that evening. If he were to get angry, he didn't want a bunch of eyes on him while he made scene. Not like it would be any different now. If he were to make a scene, a few eyes would still fall upon him. Only now, they would be angry that he kept them from getting what little sleep they all got on a nightly basis, if some of them even slept at all.

The letter was not anything like Dean had expected but it answered a lot of questions. Lisa was not even there to read his letters, let alone respond. Though, if she had wanted him to know where she was going, she would have told him. So, he was now completely sure that they were over. To hell with her really. Not like Dean had any plans on coming home anyways.

_____

Dean sat on the letter for a week. He thought about throwing it away but there was also a part of him that was grateful for the letter. Some stranger that didn't even know him took the time to not only let him know that Lisa was gone but to check in on his friends. Dean couldn't just let something like that go into the trash. So finally, when he had a minute to himself, Dean sat down and responded to the letter.

_Castiel,_

_I have never been one for being formal and such, so you can just call me Dean or even Winchester. Mr. Winchester was my father and since I hope I am nothing like him, I choose not to use the title for myself. What kind of name is Castiel? Are you foreign? Not that being foreign is bad, it is just not a name that one hears very often. Were your parents hippies? I think my mom would have made an amazing hippy if life would have been different for her. I even knew this hippy chick back in high school, man, was she all about the love or what? But that is probably a little too much information for you._

_You got a girlfriend? Guess that is really none of my business. I used to have a girlfriend but you can see how that turned out. Let me give you some advice. When the hot personal trainer from the gym next to where you are working starts chatting you up at the bar, walk the other way. Chicks like that are just there for a pretty face to wrap around their arms until shit gets too hard for them to handle. There are better chicks out there. Should have gone for Jo. That girl has had the hots for me since we were little. Hard to date someone that you think of as a little sister though. Maybe I’ll give her a chance when I get home. Keep the ones that love you already as close as you can, man._

_Anyways, thanks for letting me know what’s up. I really miss it back home and we get no information about what’s what. I couldn’t even imagine what the weather is like there. It’s actually pretty cold here right now. I thought this place was going to feel like hell, but everywhere seems to have seasons. What is the weather like there?_

_I have probably taken more of your time than I needed to. Thanks again for the letter man. Means the world. Take care._

_Dean_

_P.s. What do you do for work Castiel?_


	4. Chapter 4

“....Do I dare part my hair behind? Do I dare eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think they will sing to me.” Castiel paused speaking to gaze around the room.

The amphitheater was filled with students. A few watched him with rapt attention. A few slept. Most gazed boredly around the room. Castiel knew many took poetry for an easy credit. He smiled softly to himself; he would endeavor to prove them wrong.

Castiel eyed his students, searching for the perfect subject to make his point. His eyes fell on a dark haired girl who had somehow snuck her phone past him. Castiel cleared his throat.

“Now, can anyone tell me what kind of poem _Prufrock_ is?”  
“It's a take on a soliloquy.” A student called out. Castiel nodded.

“Very good, Mr. Shurley. Perhaps Miss Masters can elaborate on why this poem was particularly revolutionary for Elliott's career?” The dark haired girl raised her head startledly.

“Uh…” She quickly shut her phone off. She fidgeted in her seat. Castiel allowed the silence of the amphitheater to expand between the girl and her classmates.

“Surely it shouldn't be a hard question, Miss Masters. I discussed it not a half hour ago.” Castiel explained calmly. The girl gulped. Her embarrassment and anger were clear on her face.

“I'm sorry, Professor Novak. Can you repeat the question?” Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were two dark pits of liquid, wrathful fire.

“I won't bother. But let this be a lesson to us all: pay attention when I'm speaking.” After his demonstration, Castiel found he had much more of his class’s attention.

When class was over, he watched as his students broke into groups of friends and lovers as they left. His heart twisted. His eyes prickled uncomfortably, and some tears escaped. He removed his glasses to swipe at them. He hated losing control like this.

He vacated his classroom for his break. In the break room were a few of his colleagues. But they ignored him. Castiel wasn't part of their clique, and they weren't accepting outsiders. He was friendless. Oh, Castiel was so, so alone.

After work, Castiel began to walk home. His apartment was a short distance from the university, and he hated to drive his old junker such a short distance if he could help it.

The October wind stung his exposed skin and the snow it produced made visibility next to nil. He sighed at went to take shelter in a pet store.

There was a pet fair inside. Some rescue was trying to get kittens adopted. Castiel observed as children dragged their parents over to the cages of kittens, begging to get one. Castiel himself was unable to quell his curiosity and went over to have a look.

Kittens were playing and people were cooing over them. Adoptions were happening in quick succession. The tiny animals were putting on a real show for potential homes. Except one. A tiny fluffy body in white, brown and grey was pressed to the back of its cage. Castiel was drawn to it. It was quiet, so people ignored it. It cowered at the back of its cage when Castiel bent to peer at it. The kitten peered back. It's eyes were crystalline blue, like aquamarine. Castiel stuck his fingers between the bars of the cage. The kitten immediately rushed forward to rub its cheek against against him. Its little chest vibrated with purrs. Castiel scratched its ears and withdrew his hand.

The kitten gave a desperate meow and stuck a paw between the bars of the cage. Don't leave me alone, its eyes seemed to say. It's fervor reminded Castiel of the letters from the soldier, Dean Winchester. He bit his lip. Most of the other kittens were adopted, and people were filing out of the store.

Cats were self-sufficient and his paycheck would allow him a little leeway for food and toys and such, Castiel reasoned. His eyes found a man who was helping run the pet fair.

“Sir,” Castiel called, “how can I adopt this kitten?” The man looked over at Castiel and the kitten he was stroking through the bars of the cage.

“You sure, mister?” The man grunted, “little Bessie there’s pretty shy. She was runty and her mama died in labor. The other kittens pick on her. She's sweet, but she's not exactly a family cat.” A hand wrapped around Castiel’s heart and gave it a painful squeeze.

“That won't be a problem.” The man rummaged for a form. _Bessie_ was written across the top.

“All you have to do is sign this, hand over one-fifty and she's yours.” Castiel accepted the form and began to fill it out.

"Can I change her name?” Castiel asked. The man gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“If you want.” Castiel scratched out the name _Bessie_ and wrote _Annabel_ in its stead. He allowed himself a small smile. _Annabel Lee_ was his favorite poem and now his kitten’s namesake. How fitting for a poetry professor. He finished the paperwork and handed the man the money.

“Thank you.” Castiel removed Annabel from her cage and held her close to his chest.

“She has all her shots and is spayed.” The man said. Castiel nodded. He then went around the store and bought food and two bowls, toys, treats, litter and a box, a carrying cage and a heated cat bed. He got her a pink collar and a tag with her name. Castiel felt the splurge was a lot more than he intended, but as he looked at the kitten, he knew it was worth it.

The wind had stopped and the snow now fell gently. With Annabel tucked warmly in the carrying cage Castiel walked the rest of the way home. He picked up the mail and went into his apartment.

He freed Annabel and allowed her to explore while he set up the bed and the litter box. She climbed on top of the sofa and watched Castiel heat a can of soup for dinner. He sat beside her on the sofa. Castiel gave her a scratch and looked through his mail.

Nothing could have surprised him then a cream white envelope from Dean Winchester. This time, the letter was addressed to him. Castiel opened it with a shaking hand and began to read. The letter made him smile. But it also made his insides ache with loneliness, both for him and for Dean. He stroked Annabel for comfort, and though she sidled closer to him and purred, she couldn't soothe the ache. He reached for paper and a pen to respond to Dean.

_Dear Dean,_   
_Please, there is no need to thank me. You're far away from your friends and family, a letter was the least I could do. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you. Anything at all, it's no trouble._

_As for my name, I must say I get that a lot. I'm not foreign, no. I grew up in Baltimore. I guess that means I am a foreigner of sorts, I'm new to Kansas. My parents weren't hippies, they were very straight laced Christian. Castiel is the name of the angel of Saturn and Thursday. Odd, I know.  
_

_I don't have a girlfriend. And I'll be sure to keep your advice in mind should I meet an attractive personal trainer.  
I'm a professor of poetry at the University of Kansas at Lawrence. I teach it, I write it, I have a kitten named after my favorite poem. I suppose I'm a little obsessed._

_The weather here has been cold. This morning, the clouds were grey and pregnant with the promise of snow. When I left work the wind was howling and the snow was whipping about like shards of glass, and it bit at the exposed skin. Now that's calmed down. The snow is conspiring to paint the town ghostly. I hope that is a sufficient enough weather report. Please feel free to write anytime._   
_Yours,  
Castiel_

Castiel finished the letter and tucked into an envelope. He walked downstairs and placed the envelope in his mailbox to be sent to Dean. He went back to his apartment and got ready for bed. He slipped into bed and Annable came and curled on his chest. He smiled and picked up his book of Poe on his bedside table. He opened it up to _Annabel Lee_.

“This is you, darling.” Castiel told the kitten who slept on his chest. “See? ‘But our love it was stronger by far than the love, of those who were older than we, of many far wiser than we. And neither the angels in Heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea. Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee.” Annabel twitched in her sleep and Castiel smiled.

But the smile didn't reach his heart. A kitten was good company, but a human would always be better. Castiel set his book aside and turned off the light. He slumped down into the bed, ever careful not to disturb Annabel. He fell asleep and dreamed of far off lands of cold deserts, rains of bullets, and a soldier without a face.

 


	5. Chapter 5

             It seemed that Dean had a new promise in life as he waited for a letter to arrive from Castiel. The man was not required to send him one back by any means, yet Dean still knew that one was coming. He had left his letter with questions and Castiel seemed the type to not be able to go without answering them. This brought about many changes in Dean’s day to day activities. He tried to smile a little more, thinking that someone back home could hear his words. That was short lived when the reality of his situation sunk back in.

Death is never easy, and Dean was surrounded by it. He had been surrounded by it his entire life and was starting to think of himself as some form of death bringer. Death and dying came to him like riding a bike. Once you learned to take someone’s life, whether up close or at a distance, the next time became easier. Eventually, you got to a point where you did not question your actions and you pulled that trigger like it was just a normal function of who you are. Castiel probably would not be wasting his time writing Dean these letters if he knew that he was a killer.

Luckily for Dean, Castiel had no idea of the horrors that he had caused, of the lives that he had taken from the enemy soldiers and the innocent people who were just trying to make it home safely. So another letter came.

Dean read the letter from Castiel over and over, along the with one that he had received before. He had them memorized, able to read them in his mind when he needed to escape. He would be looking through the scope on his gun, thinking about the man that he had just learned taught poetry. Dean was not even aware that people taught poetry specifically. Poetry just seemed like such a small part of life, how could Castiel not run out of material?

Laying in his bunk that night, Dean tried to think of his favorite poem. He had read poems in High School when he was asked to but mainly, he was just a book kind of guy. He could talk about books for hours, but poetry, that was an area that he did not know. Though that was not completely the truth. Dean could remember when Sammy was little and reading him these crazy poems. Some of them made absolutely no sense but maybe that was the point. Dean needed things that did not make sense because then they weren’t as serious as life really was.

It took Dean a few days to come up with a reply. He had one shot to write a letter in response. He had to make sure to put in the right information and ask the right questions. He didn't want to scare Castiel away but he also knew that people didn't like how he kept to himself and didn't open up. Maybe if he opened up to Castiel a little, he would stick around longer than the rest.

_How pathetic am I?_ Dean wondered these words to himself many times. He was letting his actions and his emotions get wrapped up in a man that he didn’t know. Castiel never told him that he wanted to remain friends or that Dean could write as many letters as he wanted, but Dean was dependent on him now. Castiel was unfortunate enough to be Dean’s only connection with the world, outside of Ellen and Jo, and he still couldn’t bring himself to write to them. He knew they missed him and would love to hear from him but they were better without him. He didn't want to give them false hope that he was okay and then not return to them. Keeping them in the dark was better for them. So instead, he was going to grip onto a stranger and pull him into the dark with him. Sounded like just the Winchester thing to do.

_Cas,_

_Is it strange that your letter arrived on a Thursday? Maybe you are more of an angel that you realize. If you start to grow wings, I would love to see them._

Dean looked down at the paper and could not help but laugh. Wow, he was really bad at this letter writing. It is a good thing that he is a mechanic and not a teacher of any kind, well, he could possibly teach a shop class or automotive, but he was not really that into kids. He would end up being that crotchety teacher. Though Bobby was crotchety and he taught Dean everything he knew about cars.

Dean laughed again at his words and then crumpled the paper up and started again.

_Cas,_

_I wasn't actually sure I was going to get a letter back from you. I appreciate that you are taking the time for me. Though I'm not really that great with words, I wanted to express what it means to me. There is so much darkness here and I believe that I'm becoming a part of it. Your letters, though there have only been the two, have been sort of a light at the end of the tunnel, reminding me that I have a home that I will be able to return to, as long as everything works out. Sometimes I come to the realization that I will not make it home. People die over here every day, so much so that it has become the way of life. Death should never just be a way of life._

_ Wow, sorry man, that probably sounded like a complete bummer. Who wants to get a letter telling them how hundreds of people are dying around me and I could be next? I don’t blame you if you don’t want to write me again in order to keep your sanity and not have to listen to my rants. I would rant to those around me but they see it every day. We talk about the things that have happened but most try not to think about it. They say that if we leave what we do out in the field, it won't affect us. I think that is bullshit. You can’t just flip a switch and turn it all off, I know, I have tried. _

_Anyways, enough with the serious shit. You teach poetry? I didn’t know that was a thing. I mean, I remember learning about poetry in literature classes in school, but it was just like a week of the class, not a whole class in itself. I didn’t know there was actually that much poetry in the world. That is a lot of rhyming._

_In fact, I tried to think of all of the poems that I know and the list was very small. I remember reading these Light in the Attic books to my brother when we were little, he really loved them. I could not really tell you many of them but I do remember one, so I guess if I remember it after all these years, it must be my favorite poem right? Shit, let’s see, how did it go?_

_ There's a Polar Bear, in our Frigidaire. He likes it cause it's cold in there. With his seat in the meat and his face in the fish and his big hairy paws in the buttery dish. He's nibbling the noodles. He's munching the rice. He's slurping the soda. He's licking the ice. And he lets out a roar if you open the door. And it gives me a scare to know he's in there, that Polary Bear in our Fridgitydaire. _

_I think that is how it goes. Funny shit if you ask me. Sammy thought forever that there was a bear in the freezer. He thought it was great and I never had the heart to tell him the truth. Part of me hopes that wherever he is now, he still has his imagination and thinks about the bear that lived in our fridge. You think there is a heaven Cas? I hope not. If there is a heaven then there must be a hell. Not sure I have been good enough for heaven._

There was no way Dean was going to Heaven. So as bad as it sounded, not wanting to believe in Heaven. Dean prayed that he didn’t end up in hell.  


	6. Chapter 6

The wind whipped the water heavy leaves about with surprising vivacity. Castiel’s junker groaned as he eased it through the cold Sunday afternoon. The wet leaves lashed the windows. The windshield wipers hadn't worked for some time, and Castiel was forced to stick his head out the window to have any chance of sight. Soon, The Roadhouse came into sight. Castiel parked the car and walked into the bar.

Jo was at the hostess station. She arched an unamused eyebrow once she she saw Castiel. Clearly, she recognized him. He offered her a sheepish smile.

“Any chance I could get a table for one?” He asked.

"Depends. Are you gonna explain yourself?”

“I received a letter from Dean Winchester. He begged to know how you and Ellen were. I found you and asked so I could respond to him in haste. I realize I came off as...odd.” Another smiled was offered. Castiel pushed his glasses farther up his nose. Jo's countenance eased.

“You know Dean?” Castiel inclined his head.

“I'm not sure I can claim that. I moved into the apartment his uh, ex-girlfriend vacated. We write to each other.” Jo nodded. She lead Castiel to a table and took his order. When she brought out his food, she introduced him to Ellen, her mother.

"Jo says you know Dean.” Ellen said. She was beautiful like her daughter, just a little care worn, Castiel thought.

“Yes, ma’am,” Castiel said, rising to shake her hand, “My name is Castiel Novak.”

“Pleased to meet you Castiel Novak.” Ellen forwent the handshake and brought Castiel in for a hug. He jumped slightly, unused to physical affection.

“Dean won't write us. I know why. But you tell that boy,” Ellen wiped a tear from her eye, “you tell him he better come home.”

“I will.” Castiel accepted another hug from Ellen before he was left to his food. He ate in silence and then paid, being sure to tip Jo. On his way home, Castiel’s thoughts drifted to Dean. Would he reply to Castiel’s letter? Perhaps not, Castiel warned himself. Dean was a soldier. He had more important things to do than answer some silly professor’s letters. Still, Castiel hoped.

Dean occupied much more of Castiel’s thoughts than he wanted to allow. But he wondered about what the soldier was doing. As he fed Annabel, Castiel wondered if Dean was getting enough to eat. He shuddered with the October chill as he walked to work, and he wondered if Dean was keeping warm in his cold desert. When Castiel woke up, soaked in sweat, dreaming of his brother’s body, he wondered if Dean had nightmares. How could he cope with the horrors of war? Perhaps he was simply tougher than Castiel. Castiel sighed and tried to fall back asleep.

Castiel went through his week as he normally would. He gave lectures, assigned homework, he gave vicious pop quizzes to those who dared not give him their attention in class. He read. He played with Annabel. He ate. He slept if his tortured psyche would allow for it. Wash, rinse, repeat. The monotony Castiel had longed for now grated against him. It gave him to much time in head to be reminded of his solitude. Castiel avoided checking his mail. He was afraid what would happen if he found a letter from Dean. And he was more afraid he wouldn't.

At the end of the week, Castiel had to bite the bullet. He still got mailed bills and things that required his attention. With a shaking hand, he pulled a week’s worth of mail out of his box and carried it back to his apartment. Annabel mewed and rubbed against his legs as he walked. He sighed warmly at her.

“Darling,” Castiel chastened as he bent to scoop the kitten, “if you continue that, I'll tread on your tail.” Annabel simply began to vibrate with purrs. Castiel sat down on the sofa and went through his mail. Annabel curled in his lap. The mail was mostly junk and bills, as Castiel had expected. But near the bottom was a dingy envelope with _C. Novak_ written on the front. Castiel swallowed. He didn't need to look at the sender to know who it was from. So Dean had written back. Castiel was both relieved and alarmed at the feeling of peace that settled inside him. Dean was a stranger. Castiel shouldn't have such worry about him.

But Dean had become a strong ship in the stormy sea of Castiel’s life. And Castiel, ever the barnacle, had latched firmly on to him. He knew it was wrong. Dean was a soldier. He was fighting, and killing, and in danger everyday. He needed to be utterly focused. Hell, Dean probably needed someone to attach to himself. But so did Castiel. He needed an anchor so the undertow of his brain didn't drag the rest of him under.

Castiel removed Annabel from his lap and went to get a pen and paper to start his reply.

_Dear Dean,  
Death is, as you put it, a bummer. I don't mind at all if you wish to discuss it. As saddening as it may be, sometimes it's good to get things like that off your chest. Especially when one is surrounded by it as you are. It has to be much of what you see. _

_I'm not ignorant to war. I understand that death is part of the deal. I understand that innocents will perish and that they may have done so by your hand. War is a business in death, and you are a part of the company. I am fully aware you see it, sleep with it, and commit it. Please, don't be alarmed. It's part of the job. I don't think you're a monster for it. You face desperate times, I understand.  
_

_I must admit, I myself am not a stranger to death. Last year, my older brother hanged himself._ _I discovered his body when I went to visit him in our childhood home. I'll never forget the image of his stiff body dangling by a rope from one of the rafters. Two years before that, my mother and stepfather died in an inferno of a car crash. Very little of their remains were able to salvaged from the flames. My father’s esophageal veins burst from excessive drink and he hemorrhaged to death when I was two. I apologize if these descriptions disturbed you, but I want to make sure you understand that you aren't alone. I know death, perhaps not to your extent, but I can empathize.  
_

_I remember ‘Polar Bear in our Frigidaire’ from when I was young. It was, in fact, a Shel Silverstein poem that made me want to teach it. I'll write it out now, in the hope that it brings you the light it brought me: “Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me. Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”  
_

_And to answer your question, poetry is a big topic. There are thousands of poems out there. And there is meaning, and rhyme or lack thereof, and rhythm word choice, and….well, I could go on. There is so much beauty in poetry. Sometimes, meaning is difficult to find and it can be equally difficult to muddle through the words enough to even understand it, but that just adds to the experience. Poetry’s like life. Beautiful and absolutely heart wrenching. I think poetry represents life as it is: chaotic to us, but filled with order to things we consider too base to try and fathom. We think to hard, as human beings. Poetry, in the end, isn't meant to have one meaning, or even have a meaning. It's meant to be felt. I think life can be like that.  
_

_You mentioned the name ‘Sammy’ a couple times. Is he your brother? Cousin? I'm sorry, I'm prying. You don't have to tell me. I never want you to feel like you have to tell me anything of a personal nature. You never have to tell me anything you don't want to.  
_

_But, I want you to know you can ask me anything you want. I'm an open book to you. I trust you. I don't know why, but I do. That has to mean something. I haven't trusted anyone in a very long time.  
_

_As for heaven and hell, I honestly don't know. Perhaps it's real, perhaps not. And I don't know what constitutes being damned to hell. Plenty of child-murderers, including God himself have existed in divine light of God in the Bible. People have done bad things in the name of heaven and have still been accepted because of their remorse for their actions. If such things do exist, perhaps you have more of a chance than you realize. Thank you for replying, Dean._   
_Yours,  
Castiel_

That night, Castiel cried himself to sleep. He didn't know why. He rarely cried anymore, but tonight he did. When he finally drifted off, he thought only of how nice it would be if he had someone to burrow himself against. In his slumber, some part of him wished that person was Dean.


	7. chapter 7

            One of Dean’s battalions jingle trucks hit a bomb. All of the gear and teams at the head of the convoy were lucky enough to have missed it. When it went off, it knocked the cab off the truck and gravel scattered itself across the ground. Benny, the lead of their team ran down to check on the drivers, making sure that they were alright and then instructing them to start setting up security. None of them were hurt but the majority of them were shaken. Benny then called for the rest of us to circle our trucks around the site.

            Running back to the vehicle, Benny stepped on another mine that was strategically placed in order to target the first responders. It blew off both of his legs and his arms before his body hit the ground. He was dead on impact. That was it. Benny was only 24 years old.

            They posted guard outside of the refrigerator unit where they stored his body until the doctors were able to finish up what they needed to do. Dean sat on a bench not far away from his once friends dead body and smoked a cigarette. He thought about Benny’s family and wondered how long until his wife learned she was now a widow and a single mother. He was not happy about the fact that he knew this horrific thing, like a secret, before anyone else had the chance to find out.

            Around midnight, a plane landed on base and they prepared for their flight back to Begram. It was going to be flying empty, except for a few of their crew and Benny’s body. They rode an old bus like vehicle up to the flight line in order to participate in the ceremony for Benny. They travelled about a quarter mile to the highest point of the base and then stopped to look over at the sight before them. Around five hundred people walking in the night, each wearing a bright yellow reflective belt around their waist. It made Dean think about the candlelight vigil they had for Sam after his death. He fought back tears.

            The ceremony was brief. Dean almost laughed at the sight. Hundreds of people had gathered around to watch, yet none of them really knew Benny. None of them really knew the person who fought next to them on a daily basis. Dean saluted his friend as they brought his body past in a body bag on a stretcher, the flag draped across him. Was this the way Dean would go out as well? Would he be surrounded by people who never knew him and didn’t love him, instead of his family? Did he really have any family left besides Ellen and Jo?

            The plane began to taxi the runway and the crowd dispersed, but Dean remained. Dean could not see the plane in the dark of the night but he could hear the propellers. He listened to them with his eyes closed until the sound disappeared completely. He was gone.

_____

            Dean wanted to be excited about the letter that he had received from Castiel. Part of him was but the other part of him was still in shock from the events that had taken place only day’s before. Not only had he lost one of the few friends he had but he had a flash of how his life was going to end if he did not make it home. Death was a bummer, Dean almost laughed at Castiel’s letter. Death for him had never been hard until today. Why did he suddenly care so much about dying?

 

_Cas,_

_I am sorry to hear about what took place with your family. It is never easy having someone die. My mother died in a fire when I was only four years old. There was some faulty wiring in my brother Sam’s nursery that was added on just before he was born. My dad tried to save her but wasn’t able to. He gave me Sam, told me to get him outside and keep him safe and that is what I did. I wish I could have saved my mother but I was four, so saving Sammy was good enough for me at the time._

_My dad took my mother’s death hard. He started drinking and lost his job. After that we moved around the country a lot. He worked odd jobs, we lived in hotel rooms and went to whatever school was in the area for a few months. We finally ended up in Kansas and he started working for an old war buddy. I thought things were going to get better after that but they didn’t. Even though we had a steady home and my dad had a steady job, he still drank. Eventually, he drank himself to death. The death report will say that he died from head injury, but he would not have gotten that injury if he had not been wasted, so it was really the alcohol that killed him if you ask me._

_We ended up with Bobby after that. I wish I could say that I was heartbroken when my father died but it seemed to actually work out for us. We were finally able to have a normal life. Then there was Sammy. Sam fit in real good in school. He was quick to make friends and he was real smart. He went out with some friends to celebrate graduating, which he did his junior year. I was so proud of him. They didn’t do nothin stupid but some asshole drunk driver ran a red light and hit the car they were in. Sammy was in the hospital for two weeks before his body finally gave out. So I know what it is like to lose your entire family. Now it is just me and I fear that I am next._

_My friend Benny was blown up this week. They are sending what is left of his body home to his wife and young daughter. Their lives will never be the same. I fear that is how my body is going to come home. Not on a plane, walking up to the people that love me, not that there are many, and hugging them. No. I am going to come home in a body bag with a flag wrapped around me. How fucked up is that Cas? I am going to come home in a bag. I don’t want to die man, I really don’t. But I don’t think what I want really matters anymore._

_Live your life. Smile every fucking day. Be happy. I bet you have a great smile, so smile. But also, you should probably forget about me. There isn’t much to me to begin with but you could be living your life in those moments you are writing me letters. Live your life. That is all I ask of you._

_Dean_

_P.S. Go to Ellen. Tell her that Dean told you to give you the blue key I asked her to hold onto for me. Show her this letter if you need to, well not all of it, just this part. Then take that key to the bus station. It opens locker 215. Everything once you are in there is pretty self-explanatory._

            Dean read over his letter a few times. He was not sure if he should send this or not but it was all that was left of him.


	8. Chapter 8

Frost hung in a thick sheen on Castiel’s bedroom window. Much of the sunlight that usually filtered through his light curtains was dispersed elsewhere, but a thin beam of light still managed to seep through and pierce Castiel’s open eyes. He made no move to blink, or turn to remove the offending brightness. He simply lay still.

His body trembled. It was the only movement in his silent apartment. His bedroom hummed alive with his muscles’ quivering. Upon closer inspection, one might find the covering of cold sweat on Castiel’s body. The sickly grey tone to his skin. The dark smudges beneath his bloodshot eyes. He’d already taken the day off work. He couldn't pretend for his students. Not today.

Today was November first. Castiel's mind regurgitated the date over and over, and he gave a full body shudder. His shallow breathing barely moved the comforter. Castiel sat up abruptly. Annabel, who had been sleeping soundly on the pillow beside him gave a startled meow and darted beneath the bed. Castiel rose from the bed and went to stand in front of his mirror. He observed his nude body behind a wall of unshed tears. Long pink ridges of scar tissue stretched across his chest and back. His eyes chased the lines that rose starkly from his pale flesh. He ran his fingers along them and took a shuddering inhale. He allowed his hands to wander lower. His fingers sank the second joint in a deep groove above his hipbone. The flesh there was sensitive and his careless, probing fingers sent a jolt of pain from it.

Castiel’s eyes closed. He remembered well the blade that caused the wound two years ago today. More so he remembered the man who had wielded it. Alastair has always favored the knife. True, it was beautiful, but the blade was wicked, just like its owner.

Castiel remembered the deep slice Alastair had bestowed upon him when Castiel broke up with him. He chose the spot well. The area above Castiel's hipbone was the deep, rich black-blue of a new bruise. Fresh from a previous beating. The skin there was tender and throbbed painfully with Castiel’s heartbeat. The knife slid through it as though it were warmed butter. The slice went deep and the skin darkened further with the crimson of blood. Castiel had immediately clamped a hand over the wound.

His blood had been so _hot_. It burned the tender skin around the wound. It bubbled through his fingers and flowed in a puddle on the floor. Castiel thought some of his organs were nicked, but he never went to a hospital, so he wasn't sure. He'd dragged himself to his friend at the time Charlie’s apartment. She was in medical school and was able to give him a rough patch up.

Castiel left Baltimore after that. He moved to Raleigh and began teaching at the local university. His wound took months to heal. And his fear kept him from medical attention. If word were ever to get out about his whereabouts, he was certain Alastair would come for him.

The wound healed poorly and infection ravaged him. When it finally did heal, he was left with the long crater in his side. It was ever a reminder of Alastair.

The wall of tears in Castiel’s eyes fell at the rush of memories. The soaked his cheeks and dripped off his chin. He took another inhale. The mucus in his nose and lungs rattled wetly. He sank to his knees and let out a long keening wail. His lips peeled back to reveal his clenched teeth. Castiel began to weep in earnest and long hiccuping whines pierced the apartment. Castiel’s hand clutched at his chest. Sharp pains spasmed with in it and he found breaths to be harder and harder to come by between his sobs.  
Castiel's body pitched and heaved and he sobbed for hours before his tears finally dried. He got dressed with shaking hands and wrapped his trench coat around him like a security blanket.

He shuffled down to his mailbox to collect his mail. He checked over his shoulder for neighbors and shied away from their contact. Back at his apartment, Annabel’s food was untouched and she was nowhere to be found.

"Annabel, come out, my darling. I didn't mean to frighten you.” Castiel called. His voice was raw from crying. He sat on the sofa and went through his mail. Castiel's stomach gave a happy swoop upon finding a letter from Dean.

It dropped like a stone once he read its contents. It seemed Dean had no use for him and was trying to let him off easy. Tears welled in Castiel's eyes and threatened to fall once again. He should have expected this. Dean was off fighting, he needed his entire focus on his job. He didn't need to be distracted by some dumb professor. Besides, even if Dean did fear death, he was still brave for facing it every day. Castiel? He could barely even make it through a two year old anniversary. Pathetic.

When Castiel saw the bit about the key, he knew what he had to do. He dragged himself down to his junker and drove to the Roadhouse. Ellen was at the hostess station this time.

“Afternoon, Castiel Novak.” She said with a smile. “What can I do for you?” Castiel numbly handed her the letter. As requested, he only allowed her to see the bottom bit. Her eyes flicked over the words. Then up to Castiel. She studied his face for a full, fat moment. “Come with me.” And with that tone, Castiel couldn't help but obey. She led him to a cash register. She swiped a finger beneath it and brought out the key Dean had mentioned. She pressed it into Castiel’s cold hand.

“Wha…?” He spluttered. She looked at him. Castiel was taken aback by the intensity in her eyes.

“You listen here, Castiel Novak. Dean is a Winchester. He don't admit anything to anyone just like his daddy before him. But I bet he did to you. You oughta be very important. You can't lose him. The fact that he would even offer up this key shows how scared he is. You gotta be his friend, Castiel Novak. The key is yours.” Castiel wanted to ask her why, but the words got caught in his throat.

“Thank you.” He offered her meekly. Ellen brought him in for a hug. She was so gentle and warm, and it took everything Castiel had not to start crying again. He held up a hand in parting. Ellen gave him a lovely smile. Castiel forced his old junker down to the bus station, where he found the locker. Within was information and keys to what Castiel presumed was Dean’s car.

Castiel found the sleek, black Impala behind the station. He opened the driver door and got in.  
The car was beautifully cared for, and an incredible gift. It smelled strongly of whiskey and leather. Castiel put the key in the ignition. The car roared to life. Castiel said a mental goodbye to his junker, and drove the Impala home. He parked it, and went up to his apartment. Annabel greeted him at the door. Castiel scooped her up and held her close to his chest. He sat down on his sofa and penned a letter back to Dean.

 _Dear Dean,_  
_Your car is beautiful. I swear to you I'll take good care of it. I'm sorry to hear about your family. It seems we have something in common, you and I._  
_I cannot tell you how brave I think you are. Facing your death every day, and you still keep fighting. It's very poetic. Not many people could do that, least of all the likes of me. You're a brave man, Dean Winchester. I think you forget that sometimes.  
I'm fully aware that you could come home in a body bag. That's the nature of war. But somehow, I doubt you will. I can't explain to_ _you why. I just think there’s more in store for you than being gunned down in that desert. I believe in you, Dean. With all my heart.  
You tell me to forget you, but I_ _say that's impossible. You have made such an impact on my life, I can't tell you. I have no life to ignore when I'm writing to you. I'm odd, disliked and hated by most. I have such anxiety about everything. I think people pick up on it and are deterred. I have no life, Dean. I have a job and a kitten and writing letters to you. But if you want me to stop writing you, I will. I wouldn't dream of bothering you, or distracting you from something more important. Just let me know._  
_Ever yours,_  
 _Castiel_

_P.S. I haven't truly smiled in two years. I don't think I can start now._

Castiel sent his letter, then curled up on his sofa with Annabel and a cup of tea. He realized, he'd left his abode on November first. He never did that. Ever. What effect was Dean Winchester having on him?

 


	9. Chapter 9

           John Winchester was not an easy man. He loved his alcohol, his gambling and hustling men at the bar. Luckily, he was good at one of those things and it was able to keep his kids fed and a roof over their heads, even if that roof was a motel room and not a place of their own. But they did have a place of their own, a place that they could call home and that was the Impala. To the world, it was an amazing looking car, but to Dean, it had always been his home. Now that home belonged to Castiel.

        Dean read over the words of Castiel’s latest later another time, trying to fight back the tears that were building up behind his eyes. He was not the crying type, but it seemed to be the only thing he wanted to do these days. He wanted to cry over the loss of his mother, who could have kept his family together. He wanted to cry for his father, a man who died many years before death actually caught up and took him. He wanted to cry again for Sam, the one who should have made it. Sam would have been something great. Dean was nothing special, it should have been Sam alive. And now, more than anything, he wanted to cry for Castiel.

        _I believe in you, Dean. With all my heart._

        If a person would have told Dean months ago that someone out there cared about him, he would have laughed at them. Sure, there was Ellen, Bobby and Jo, but they were different. They were family and family has to care about you. Castiel did not have to care about him but he did. He wouldn't be spending all of this time writing to him if he didn't care about him. But what did that say about Dean? Dean could have stopped writing when he learned that Lisa no longer lived at her old address. He could have let himself die many times, just the way he told himself he was going to. He could be dead, maybe even be with his family again. Did he believe in that sort of thing? It was worth a shot to see Sam again, wasn’t it?

        But now here he was, laying on a cold cot, looking over the letters of a man he had never met. Dean didn't even know wnhat this man looked like. He had tried to picture Castiel in his head many times but he could not seem to create him. All he ever saw were wings. Dean knew for sure Castiel was not just a pair of wings, but it was always wings that he saw. Every time he closed his eyes, there were giant black wings flashing around him, pulling him in and holding him close. It was those moments that made him fight to stay alive, it was those wings that kept him feeling safe, even with being in the middle of a war. And whether it seemed stupid or not, he knew they were Castiel.

_I'm odd, disliked and hated by most._

It was not a funny statement, but the words always seemed to make Dean laugh. Being odd and disliked and hated by most was a horrible thing but Dean could not see how it was true. Castiel was the greatest thing to ever happen to him. How could someone not like him? He was funny, and encouraging and oddly outright. He seemed to say exactly what was on his mind and that was awesome. People keep shit to themselves way too much. Castiel’s ability to call it like it is was refreshing.

_Cas,_

_There are two parts of me. The first part of me wants you to stop writing me. It wants you to live your life and not worry about someone like me. I am not worth the time and the effort that you are putting into me. I care about you, more than I can put into words, which is strange. How do you care about someone you never met before? I mean, I don’t even know what you look like and oddly enough, I don’t care. All I know is that I have feelings for you and care deeply for you and I want you to be happy. Happy is not something I give people. Talking to me will not bring you happiness. I will not bring you happiness and I want you to get as far from me as possible for your own sake. But again, this is just the first part of me._

_Then you have the other part of me. The part of me that wants to be selfish and needs you. Your letters keep me alive every day. You are my light in the darkness that is my life. Every day the world feels like it is sinking in and swallowing me whole and I want to let it and then I get a letter from you and suddenly, I am safe and the world is not so hard to take in._

_I keep having these dreams. I am walking in the middle of, I think it is I a forest or something, I can’t really tell where I am. But there is this house, or barn or something, it is all kind of blurry. I can only seem to remember bits and pieces. What I do remember though are these flashes of lights and what appears to be these giant black wings wrapping around me. Sounds kinds of scary but it is actually the opposite. These wings are huge and amazing and they make me feel safe._

_You are those giant black wings. Like an angel. You are my angel. You are the one protecting me and keeping me alive and I need you to keep doing that. I need you to keep me alive so that I can get home and see you. I did not want to come home. I came here to die. But now I need to get home. I need to get to you so that I can thank you. Telling you thank you in a letter does not seem to mean anything. I need to tell you thank you for saving my life. I am going to come home. I am going to tell you._

_As sappy as this sounds. You are my angel. So keep writing me. Keep bothering me. Always bother me, please. I never knew how much I missed being bothered._

_Dean_

_P.S. You aren’t really a bother to me. I was joking. I hope it came off as a joke but just in case it didn’t, this is me, telling you, that it was just a joke._

        Dean read over his letter and thought about starting over. He was sappy and parts of it seemed like he was telling Castiel that he was into him. He wasn't into Castiel, right? Whatever. He needed Castiel to know what he was thinking, even if Dean was not sure what he was feeling. He had time to figure that out. Right now, all he cared about was letting Castiel know that he cared about him. He needed to know that someone cared about him.

_P.S.S. I don’t remember when this picture was taken or who took it. It's the only picture of have of my baby, so I brought it with me. It’s also the only picture I have of me. Thought you should have it. Please take care of her._

        Dean slid the photo into the envelope with the letter and then sealed it. It was a done deal. There was no going back now.

 


	10. Chapter 10

  
“....If in some smothering dreams you too could pace/Behind the wagon that we flung him in,/And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,/His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;/If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood/Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,/Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud/Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,/My friend, you would not tell with such high zest/To children ardent for some desperate glory,/The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est/ Pro patria mori.” Castiel’s voice became more and more fervent as he read. He paced the length of his classroom. His movement drew attention from the students, though it was clear many of them longed to place it elsewhere.

Castiel put up a front for his students. They would never guess anything was wrong. They just pitifully hated him for giving difficult tests because they couldn't find fault in themselves for not studying. His last test on T.S. Elliot laid waste to the idea of an easy A from him. Many of Castiel’s students begrudged him that. He didn't care. Hatred from normal people he could handle. It was just Dean. Dean, Dean. Always Castiel’s exception.

As Castiel went into a long lecture about Dulce Et Decorum Est, his thoughts remained on Dean. Why did Dean Winchester have to matter so goddamn much? Why the _fuck_ did it matter if he hated Castiel? Everyone hated Castiel. One hundred young, impressionable minds hated him for trying to give them knowledge. His co workers hated him because he had the audacity not to be born in Kansas. Almost every human Castiel had come in contact with had found a way to hate him. So what was Dean, in that sea of faces?

 _Well_ , said a plaintive voice inside Castiel’s head, _Dean’s the only one who bothered to care_. And there was the crux of it. Dean cared, or at least pretended. And Castiel needed that. Or wanted it. He couldn't tell the difference. Was there a difference? It didn't matter. Dean had become the sun which Castiel’s world revolved around. And he hated him.

It was with a heavy heart that Castiel gathered his mail that evening. He could expect no cream envelopes with his name scrawled on them now. The thought saddened him beyond belief. He felt a stone of his grief rested heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach. Not even the friendly meow of Annabel when he entered his apartment gave relief. It was like a hand in that strange, war-torn desert was strangling his heart.

Castiel fed Annabel. He fed himself. He graded some essays. If a few tears leaked out of his eyes, no one was there to see. Castiel sat down heavily and pulled his mail toward him. His stomach gave a happy flip on instinct, and it salted Castiel’s wounds. But he slowly flipped through the papers. It was mostly junk, as Castiel expected. A few bills were mixed in, and Castiel set them aside so he could address them. Castiel was right. No cream letter was there to greet him. But there was a dusty grey one that had Castiel’s name written in a familiar scrawl.

Castiel barely dared to breathe. He opened it gently, and with a trembling hand, he removed the contents. The paper was filled with Dean’s words. He veritably begged Castiel to write him. Dean did care. It was right there in his letter. Castiel meant something. The thought almost made Castiel weep from relief. Instead he laughed until his sides hurt. _God_ this was amazing. Dean cared, Dean cared, _Dean cared_. Castiel wanted to scream it out his window. Dean Winchester cared about him. Dean Winchester wanted Castiel to keep writing him. Nothing was more beautiful in the world.

Castiel scooped Annabel up and twirled her around. She hooked her claws into Castiel’s hands in fright, but he didn't care.

“He cares, darling, like you.” Castiel brought her him close to his chest and she mewed. Castiel figured she agreed. He rested her on his lap and she began to purr. Castiel was about to throw the envelope in the trash can beside him when a flash of color from within it made him pause. He pulled a photo out and checked to make sure the envelope was fully empty before throwing it away. This had to be the photograph Dean mentioned in his letter.

Castiel adjusted his glasses and examined the picture. Dean was beautiful. Castiel swallowed thickly as a thrill of attraction slithered up his spine. Dean was muscular and smiling at the sun, and Castiel swore he had never seen anything to match the beauty in the grainy little photo. Christ, he was perfect. That was who Castiel had been talking to? And he cared about Castiel? Castiel felt bad. He had no photographs to send Dean. But perhaps that was for the best. He couldn't match that beauty. He selfishly wanted to hang on to Dean for as long as he could. Even if it meant keeping him in the dark. Castiel got a pen and paper and sat down to write Dean a response.

 _Dear Dean,_  
I _must admit, I don't think kinder words have been said to me. I may be your lifeline as you say, but you're all that’s keeping me sane. I'm always so alone. I didn't know if I used to be, but I am now. My kitten is just a kitten. She loves simply, and I lover her for that, but I need real human contact. Do you understand? I need someone who can talk back._

_I dream of you, Dean. You fighting in your cold desert. Brave and proud, like the soldiers in the poems. I wonder why they're always depicted like that. I the authors want them to come off as stoic, but they always have sounded like war hungry brutes to me. I don't know. Maybe I'm fanciful. Maybe soldiers are trained to like what they're subjected to, like a perverse Stockholm syndrome. But the thing is, you aren't a brute, Dean. You have so much kindness in you that it's reaching me from across an ocean. What a wonderful thing that is. What a wonderful thing you are.  
_

_I received your picture. Perhaps this is to forward of me, but your smile competes with the sun in brightness. Never in my life have I ever seen anything like it. I hope one day I will get the chance to experience it first hand. You're a very handsome man, Dean. Lisa was stupid to lose you. I'm sorry if that rubs a raw wound. I'm very bad with things of that nature.  
_

_Thank you for everything Dean. I need you in my my life._   
_Ever yours,  
Castiel_

Castiel read over his letter and sighed. He couldn't be more obviously in love if he tried. Dean was more than likely as straight as they came. But his letter sparked a tiny ember of hope within him. Just maybe. Castiel gazed out his window into the bleak November evening and grinned like a lunatic. For the first time, he dared to hope.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is which is in Italics is "Ride On" By AC/DC. I do not own any of the song, nor do I claim it to be Dean's song. It was just the song I pictured going through his mind at this moment.

_ It’s another lonely evening _

_ And another lonely town _

_ But I ain’t too young to worry _

_ And I ain’t too old to cry _

“Look at me, look at me,” a voice pierced through Dean’s mind and his eyes flung open. Had they been closed? Dean tried to focus on what was taking place around him but it was so bright, he just wanted to close his eyes. He wanted it to be dark. He wanted the music back.

_ Got another empty bottle _

_ And another empty bed _

_ Ain’t too young to admit it _

_ And I’m not too old to lie _

_ I’m just another empty head _

“Please,” the voice begged and Dean put all of his effort into focusing. He was soon face to face with a blond man, his face covered in dirt and what Dean could only assume was blood. “Please stay with me. Please.”

“I can’t …” Dean tried to speak but it hurt. Everything hurt. His body was screaming. Where was he? Why was he in so much pain. Soon it all came flooding back to him.

Dean was a part of a team conducting a routine security sweep. It had been a quiet night and Dean was certain they would get in and be back in time for him to try and get something to eat before heading off to bed. Food was rationed but that did not mean that they would let him starve to death. Food. He was thinking about food when him and his fellow soldiers fell under indirect fire, which quickly become direct fire. It was coming from all directions and Dean could not figure out which way to turn or where to run.

Dean could hear the yelling of his men and took off in that direction. He had to help them. He rounded the corner into an enemy engagement area and that is where it all goes blank.

“Relax,” the voice spoke to him again. “You don’t need to talk to me, you just need to stay awake. Please stay awake.”

“I was on fire,” Dean whispered and then it all went black.

_ That’s why I’m lonely _

_ I’m so lonely _

_ But I know what I’m gonna do _

_ I’m gonna ride on _

_ Ride on _

_ Ride on, standing on the edge of the road _

_ Ride on, thumb in the air _

_ Ride on, one of these days I’m gonna _

_ Ride on, change my evil ways _

_ Till then, I’ll just keep dragging on _

_____

Dean struggled again to open his eyes. Everything around him was dark and no matter how hard he tried, he could not adjust his eyes. He was uncertain of where he was. He knew he was in an accident, but how bad? Was he in heaven? Was this the bright light that people had mentioned over and over again?

“It’s about time you woke up,” a voice swarmed into his mind. It was not the same voice as before, this voice belonged to a woman. “We have been worried about you.”

“Where am I?” Dean asked, trying to get his eyes to adjust. It took some time but soon he could see. He was in a white room, machines attached to his body from every which way and there was a girl, a beautiful girl standing at the end of his bed.

“You are at the Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas,” she answered with a sweet smile as she pushed long red locks out of her eyes. “I am Doctor Milton. Do you know why you're here?”

“Well,” Dean tried to lift himself up but he was unsuccessful. “Judging by where I am, I am going to assume that I have been injured, beyond something a band aid can cover up.”

“I wish I could tell you that's not the case,” Dr. Milton frowned as she made her way to the side of his bed. Dean worked to follow her but he had trouble even moving his head.

“What happened to me?” He asked, realizing then just how much of himself he couldn’t feel. Not feeling anything was a bad sign.

“You were hit by an improvised explosive device,” she informed him. He tried to rack his brain for a memory but the last thing he remembered was eating dinner. “You have severe third degree burns over thirty-five percent of your body and we had to remove your left index finger due to even more severe nerve damage.”

“Well, shit,” Dean sighed, this was not how he expected to come home. He thought he would either come home himself or in a body bag. He never expected to come home disfigured and missing body parts. “If you could just kill me now.”

Dean knew it was a terrible joke and he should not have made it, but he didn’t seem to care as much as he should. He was burnt. He was going to be noticed for the rest of his life as a burn victim. People were going to look at him and know that something happened. He was going to see his skin and wonder if this is what his mother looked like when she died. So much for wanting to be a firefighter when he was a kid. Now he was the fire. He was the one thing he wanted to put out.

Dean didn’t speak again for hours, not until the pain began to take over. He could feel the flames on his body, eating away at his skin. He was screaming. He could not control himself. There were screams and though he wanted to deny they were his, deep down he knew they were. It was too much. He wished to be dead. Why was he alive?

“I believe in you, Dean.” Words flooded his mind but he could not make out who was saying them or where they were coming from. “With all my heart.”

“Castiel?” Dean called out, trying to reach out. That was Castiel. Was Castiel here? Why would he be here? Dean needed to get to him. He needed to get to Castiel. Where was Castiel? “Castiel?”

Then black.

_ Broke another promise _

_ And I broke another heart _

_ But I ain’t too young to realize _

_ That I ain’t too old to try… _

_ …but I’m lonely _

_ Lord I’m lonely _

_ What am I gonna do? _


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel was teaching when it happened. In his amphitheatre of over one hundred students, Castiel recited the lines of _The_ _More Loving One_ , by W. H. Auden.

“...Admirer as I think I am/Of stars that do not give a damn,/I cannot, now I see them, say/I missed one terribly all day.” Castiel's voice was strong and rough, but inside him, his heart trembled weakly. It had been over a month since he’d last heard from Dean. Castiel tried to tell himself that Dean was hard at work and simply couldn't respond. Dean was on a mission and he couldn't be seen writing. Castiel desperately wanted that to be true. He prayed for the first time since he was a little boy that Dean Winchester was safe. Castiel wasn't even sure there was a god, but _damnit_ , he had to do something more than sit uselessly and wait for word.

But some sick twist in Castiel's gut told him that there was a shallow grave in the sands of that cold desert and it may well be Dean’s. He hoped not. Castiel didn't know what he would do without Dean. _Without Dean._ The very thought made his breath hitch and he had to turn away and pretend to write something on his whiteboard so he could swipe at some renegade tears that snuck out of his eyes.

Castiel forged on with his lesson. He lectured and read, and kept up a silent mantra of _I'm okay, I'm okay, Dean’s okay_ within his head. Because he knew if his resolve faltered even for a moment, he'd drown in all the reasons they weren't. And falling to pieces in front of his class was something he could do without.

It was when he had almost gotten himself together that Ellen decided to walk into his classroom. And Castiel felt himself shatter beneath his skin. She wouldn't be here if something wasn't wrong. He stumbled over his sentence. Ellen was dressed flatteringly and she unobtrusively went to sit among his students. Castiel covered his fumble with a cough and he readjusted his glasses. Ellen gave him a tiny nod as if to say it was okay for him to continue teaching. Whatever it was, it could wait. Castiel didn't know if that comforted him or not. He went and stood behind his podium to his his shaking legs.

“Go and read As I Walked Out One Evening by W. H. Auden and write me an essay on its devices and meaning and how it relates to Auden’s style as a whole. Due Thursday. Dismissed.” Castiel’s students rose and left. They were a roaring, raging sandstorm, whipping from his classroom in a flurry of movement. Until there was only silence and Ellen. Ellen walked over to him. Castiel trembled. He was so, so afraid of what she had come to tell him. She offered him a smile that was so false, it was repulsive on her face. She seemed to know it, too, because it drained quickly from her lips.

“You're a hard man to track down, Castiel Novak.” Ellen said. Castiel blushed sheepishly.

“My apologies.” He avoided the topic of Dean. He didn't want to know as much as he wanted to know.

“Honey, Dean…” Ellen trailed off. Castiel’s eyes filled with a sheen of tears. Every cell in his body was stretched taut with the unsaid. His very bones jangled together with his incessant shaking.

“Yes?” Castiel willed strength into his voice and instantly regretted it. The act made him want crumple to the ground in fatigue.

“There was an explosion.” Ellen’s eyes contained an ocean of unshed tears. Castiel felt his heart melt. It dripped over his ribs and collected in a puddle of acid in his stomach. Unable to contain himself, a tiny keen slipped from his throat. A single tear slid onto his cheek.  
“Dean lost a finger and he's burned...but he's alive.” Ellen's voice was as weak as Castiel felt. They stood in silence for a moment. A beat. Their emotions were palpable. And then, they came together and embraced. Castiel wept openly. He pulled Ellen tight against him and she did the same, only muffled by his shoulder. The room filled with grief and anger and happiness and hope, all released through an outpouring of tears. Ellen’s fingers gripped Castiel’s shoulders and her nails dug into the scars there. They ached horribly, but Castiel welcomed the pain. They added fuel to the firestorm that was his emotions. They swirled white hot, burning his insides, then were blown away before he could truly feel them.

It was a half hour before the crying stopped. The volcanic explosion was over, but in its place was a muddled, scorched landscape that was new and strange. Castiel removed his glasses to wipe them on the hem of his shirt. Ellen produced a few tissues from her pocket and offered one to Castiel. He took it gratefully and mopped his face of tears. They observed each other. Whatever had been between them was shattered and in it's place was something intimate, making them awkward as children. They bashfully avoided eye contact and mulled over what had been done. They were bonded by the unbreakable seal of tears and a hurt loved one.

“Where is Dean?” Castiel asked bravely. Ellen seemed grateful that he wasn't acknowledging their weeping session.

“In a hospital in San Antonio. My flight leaves tonight.” Ellen was looking at him now. Castiel's mind immediately raced to what he would pack, how quickly he'd have to do it, who would care for Annabel, and then he looked at Ellen's face.

“I'll wait for you to get back.” He tried to say it without gloom. He knew it was only right for Dean’s real family to see him.

“I think that'd be best.” Ellen nodded, “I’ll only be down there for a few days. I'll let you know how he's doing.” It was Castiel’s turn to nod. Ellen seemed to understand the the blow that was dealt upon him and extended her arm. Castiel was touched and took it. “C’mon I'll take you to your car.” She said with a bit more of her usual spirit.

 _Dean’s car,_ Castiel corrected in his head. He may have been driving the Impala, but it would always be Dean's. The scent of leather and whiskey were as strong as ever. Castiel doubted it would ever go away.

He bade Ellen goodbye, made sure she had his address should she need to reach him, and drove the Impala back to his apartment. When he got there, he parked and took a moment to just sit. He took Dean’s photo from his wallet and inhaled the leather and whiskey. Dean’s beauty still managed to steal his breath. _Lord_ , the thought of any inch of him being harmed made Castiel want to cry all over again. Castiel stared at the picture and took a deep inhale. Oh, hell, he was in love, wasn't he? There was no use denying it now. Castiel wanted to hold Dean and kiss him and...Castiel swallowed. And do unsavory things with that beautiful body. And he wanted to talk to Dean, and learn about the cold desert, and know his every flaw and perfection. He wanted to know the taste of Dean’s breath and smell of the leather and whiskey on his skin and the feel of his every scar. _Christ_ , there was little more Castiel wanted in the world.

But. What if Dean didn't want him back? Castiel made a choked sound at the very thought. He knew he was being ridiculously selfish. He knew very little of Dean's preferences, and here he was, already distraught if they didn't match his own. _Dean had a girlfriend,_ Castiel chastened himself harshly, _stop imposing on him_. Castiel steeled himself against the inevitable rejection, should he ever be a fool enough to express his feeling. Rejection was something he was used to. He would be okay. He would.

In the days that Ellen was gone, Castiel was restless. He paced and twitched and his attention waned after a few minutes. Annabel enjoyed this side of her master. He played with her far more and she enjoyed attacking his legs as he walked past her. Castiel wanted to run or drive or something, but he knew if he did, he'd end end up in San Antonio, a place he resolutely refused to be, at least for the time being. So he was stuck in Kansas to pace and try to keep his thoughts as far away from his stateside soldier as he could.

It was five days later than his doorbell rang and he found Ellen standing on the other side. They embraced, and Castiel invited her inside. A million questions danced at the tip of Castiel’s tongue, but he held them back. He didn't want to bombard Ellen. So, the pair sat on the sofa and were quiet for a moment.

“How is he?” Castiel finally asked.

“Physically, he's healing up real well.” Ellen gave a soft smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Mentally, he's a whole ‘nother story. Down on himself and all that.” Castiel's heart broke, but he understood. He'd wished for death for years after Alastair’s attack. He still would, if it weren't for Dean.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Castiel hated the words as soon as they left his mouth. They sounded stilted and aloof, when it really was quite the opposite. Ellen gave him a wry smile.

“Anyway, I came over here to tell you that you've gotta get yourself down to San Antonio. Soon. Now.” That was exactly the opposite of what Castiel expected to hear.

“What?” Calling him flustered would be an understatement.

“Castiel.” Ellen said firmly, “I was at the hospital for four days. Dean was either sleeping or talking my ear off about you. And when they put that morphine shit in him, he hallucinated you. You've got to go down there.”

“But my work...my cat…” Castiel spluttered. Now faced with the realization that he could see Dean, he felt nerves take over.

“I'll take care of your cat. Work can wait. Dean needs you, Castiel Novak.” Ellen’s tone left no room for excuses. Castiel looked down.

“I'll go pack.”

And that's how Castiel Novak found himself on a plane to San Antonio nearly five hours later. When he arrived, he found himself overwhelmed by the airport. It was huge and even at eleven at night, the San Antonio International Airport was filled to the brim with life. To Castiel, it was a brightly colored hell that brought his already anxious brain on the verge of a panic attack.

He escaped with his luggage thirty minutes after landing, but it took another ten to hail a cab to take him to a hotel. Castiel decided against going to the hospital immediately. He didn't know where it was and it was nearing an even more ungodly hour for visitors. So, he found a cheap hotel in a sketchy part of town and fell into a fitful slumber that was full of Dean.

The next morning, Castiel sat bolt upright; his body was a humming bundle of nerves. He dressed in a button down and slacks and at the last minute threw on his favorite sweater to keep out the Texan chill. He hailed a cab and explained where he wanted to go. Somehow, the can drive was the longest and the shortest in his life and Castiel was left wondering how it could be both at the same time. When he reached the hospital, his mouth went dry. He paid the cabby, and tried not to shake as he entered.

At the front desk he got directions to Dean's room and he made his way there, all the while wondering what to do and say. Just outside of Dean’s room he was stopped by a pretty redhead who seemed to be Dean's doctor.

“Mr. Winchester is sleeping.” She told him, clearly unimpressed at his request to enter the room.

“I won't disturb him. I'll just keep him company.” Castiel explained in what he hoped was a calm manner. He felt hysterical. The doctor nodded and allowed him passage. Upon seeing Dean, the bomb Castiel’s anxiety had been building within him blew up, and he was filled with a nervous kind of relief.  
Dean was beautiful. His face was even more handsome in person. His burns were bandaged and hidden from view. His breathing was strong and even in his slumber. Castiel sat weakly in a chair next to the bed. He felt more lovesick than ever before. This rejection would hurt worse than any before it. Unable to stop himself, Castiel reached out to touch Dean’s bandaged hand, and when he didn't stir, Castiel whispered,

"Oh, my soldier. I told you you'd make it home.” Castiel's thumb gently ghosted over Dean’s bandages. “I was right to believe in you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few sentences that do not make 100% sense and seem kind of repetitive, this is because it was sort of a thought from Dean and he is on morphine, so I completely realize that it is there. Enjoy! 
> 
> P.S. We are 100% grateful for all of you that are keeping up with this story. This story means the world to us and hearing from all of you, that you love it, just makes us want to work harder at keeping it going. You guys are amazing and we just wanted to take the time to tell you all that.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

            “There he is,” a familiar voice broke through that of his mothers. He had been hearing his mother in his head for days now, singing to him the lullaby of his childhood. His mother was not like other women and Dean wished that she was there to hold his hand now, missing finger and all. But this voice did not belong to his birth mother, but the woman who raised him and that was good enough for him.

            “El,” Dean cleared his throat, trying to get his words out; he had not talked in days. Had it been days? “Ellen?”

            “Yeah,” he could feel her fingers rub against his cheek and he moved into them, fighting back tears. He did not want her to see him like this. He was a monster. “I am right here Dean.”

            Dean tried to say more but the morphine had not fully worn off. He was in and out of sleep for what felt like days at that point, before he was able to fully keep himself awake. He asked, once he gained the ability, to have them stop the morphine for a while, so that he could speak to Ellen clearly.

            “Dean,” Ellen continued to try and talk him back into the medicine. “You don’t have to be strong for me. If you need pain meds, let them give you pain meds.”

            “I will soon,” Dean reassured her, fighting through the pain. He knew that he was no longer on fire but as the pain meds wore off, it felt like the flames were taking hold of his body again. He wanted to talk to Ellen clearly but he honestly was not sure how long he would be able to take the feeling. “I just want to be able to talk to you for a minute without sounding like an idjit. Is that okay?”

            “Anything you want boy,” Ellen agreed, but he could see in her eyes that she was worried about him.

            Dean fought off the pain for hours, trying to tell Ellen what he had experienced and find out about people back home. He didn’t dare bring up Castiel. He knew that Ellen had met him but that was all. She did not need to know the situation between them. Was there a situation between them?

            “Nurse,” Ellen’s words felt far away but he knew why she was calling for them. He was in pain and it was pushing its way to the surface. Soon the morphine was flooding his body again and he did not have any control to fight it.

            “He will probably fall asleep soon,” the words echoed in his head but he was not sure what they meant or who they were for.

            “Thank you,” Dean looked around the room, his eyes searching for something even he wasn’t sure of. But then he found it.

            “My angel,” Dean stuttered his words, reaching out to the blurred vision that appeared before him.

            “Dean,” Dean turned his head and recognized Ellen. Ellen was like a mother to him. He loved Ellen. She was like a mother to him, yeah. “Dean?”

            “I fell in love with an angel mom,” Dean spoke, not sure if it was to Ellen or to his mother. He had to believe in heaven to speak to his mom right? But if he had fallen for an angel, then heaven surely was a real place. It had to be.

            “You did huh?”

            “Yeah, I did,” Dean could feel himself smiling. “They even gave him his own day of the week. I think.”

            “He sounds wonderful.”

            “I think he is.”

            “What is his name sweetie?”

            “Castiel,” Dean said with a slight laugh. “Doesn’t even sound like a real name. Castiel.”

            “That is a very unique name,” the voice that became less and less familiar agreed. “Probably belongs to a very unique man.”

            “Angel,” Dean corrected. “Castiel is an angel. See?”

            Dean pointed to his angel in the corner, hoping that he was not the only one seeing him but then praying that he was. If he was the only one seeing him, then he was not really here. He could not be here. He did not need to see Dean like this. Dean was a monster. How could an angel be in love with a monster? That sounded like a bad movie that was nothing more than make believe. No. The angel could not be here.

            “Don’t let him come,” Dean shook the hand that was holding onto him. “You have to stop him. Keep him out.”

            “Dean,” the voice felt even further than before. “Dean, I can’t understand what you are saying, you need to slow down.”

            “Don’t,” Dean felt like he was falling, “let him,” the world slipping out from beneath him. Was he dying? “See me.”

 

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little colder_

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah_

            “What song is that?” Dean tried to focus on the man in front of him. He had dark hair and a deep voice that seemed far away. He was checking the machines that were hooked up to him. He was a doctor. Just a doctor.

            “What is what song?” Dean asked confused.

            “You were humming something,” the doctor answered. “Normally I am really good with songs, but you were kind of in and out of it, so I had trouble keeping up.”

            “I’m sorry doc,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, at least, he thought he did. “I didn’t know I was humming.”

            “That is okay,” the doctor smiled down at him, leaning over to check his bandages. “I am sure it will come back to you at some point.”

            Dean nodded and closed his eyes. He could not watch them pull back the bandages and reveal what he had become. He was ugly and repulsive. Why did they wish to keep looking at his curse? This is what he deserved, he had it coming all along. His mother could not live for him, nor his father, nor Sammy. Cassie couldn’t love him and neither could Lisa. Now it was his turn. Not that he ever loved himself but now he could see. He could see what he looked like on the inside plastered for the whole world to see. How was he supposed to hide now?

            “You are healing up nicely.” The doctor informed him and Dean finally opened his eyes. “We took a couple of grafts from your thigh and put it along your neck and chest. Those are healing well as well.”

            “Great,” Dean laughed. How could this be exciting news? We removed skin from another part of your body to try and cover up the burns, but it only covers up a little bit, so basically, it was a pretty useless task. Congrats on still being hideous.

            The doctor finally left and Dean was alone. He had always loved being alone. It was the only time that he felt like he could breathe. He did not have to live up to the expectations of those around him. He just got to be himself. So he cried. He cried until once again, he lost consciousness.

 

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

 

            Dean had no idea when it was or how long he had been lying in this stupid hospital bed. They were giving him less and less morphine and trying to switch him down to lower dosed pain meds. He was not allowed to leave the bed and start working towards going home until he could take his pains orally. Part of him wanted to keep telling them that the pain was too much. Make them keep pumping him full of morphine so he would never have to leave. He could stay unconscious until his body decided to just let go and let him be at peace.

            “Hey doc,” Dean turned to the man sitting beside him, he looked sort of like his doctor. Maybe it was another doctor.

            Dean squinted to try and make out the man as his eyes adjusted to the light. He had dark black hair and bright blue eyes. Dean never really paid attention to people’s eyes, probably because he tried to avoid eye contact with people at all times.

            “There is an angel who is coming for me,” Dean continued to talk, laying back and looking up at the white ceiling. “You have to stop him. I don’t give permission for angels to be here. I don’t want him here or anywhere. You understand doc? No angels.”


	14. Chapter 14

“There’s an angel who’s coming for me. You have to stop him. I don’t give permission for angels to be here. I don’t want him here or anywhere. You understand, doc? No angels.” Dean said. He was awake now, but the glazed look in his eyes told another story. Castiel worried his lip. Should he be here? If Dean was incoherent, did that mean Castiel was taking advantage of him? Did he remember who Castiel was? And who was this angel? Castiel felt a spark of jealousy ignite in his gut. But it was quickly extinguished by the sinking of Castiel’s heart when he remembered telling Dean the origin of his name.

“Dean. I'm not...I'm not a doctor. My name is Castiel Novak. Do you know who I am?” Dean blinked. His beautiful mouth twisted into something terrible.

“No. No, no, no, angel. You can't be here. You have to leave. Now. _Now_. Go!” Dean’s voice was sharp as a blade, and damned if it didn't cut deeper than any Castiel had ever been struck with. He rose to his feet before his mind knew what he was doing. He strode from the room, all the while Dean’s pained howls of _no angels_ biting at his heels. Castiel's heart hammered in his chest. He knew he shouldn't have come. His body went on autopilot. Doctors and nurses and patients surged past him. He hailed a cab and returned quickly to his hotel. Once the door of the room was shut, he fell to his knees and openly wept.

What was wrong with him? Why did he have to show up here? Dean needed family and loved ones so he would feel safe. He'd been through so much, even lost a finger and all he got to help was Castiel. God, what a disappointment that must have been. To not find Ellen or Jo or someone else in the doorway. Just him. Just some stupid, desperate man obsessed with poetry and madly in love with him. Michael had always told Castiel not to be a fag. But here he was, in love with a soldier who couldn't and wouldn't love him in return.

Why did Castiel have to be the way he was? Why couldn't he have been a doctor like his parents always wanted? If he had found it in him, would’ve been through medical school by now, making ridiculous amounts of money. Castiel's salary wasn't awful, but it certainly wasn't great and not what his parents would have wanted. And why, fucking why did he have to be gay? Oh, Castiel had forever wished he could love women in that way. He'd be married by now, with an apple pie life and two-point-five kids. What he wouldn't give to have that. All being gay had brought him was heartache. Alastair had used Castiel as a knife holder. And Balthazar had taken Castiel’s love and pissed it away on another man. Fuck, being straight must be so much easier.

Castiel got under the covers of his cheap bed fully clothed and curled in a little ball. What was he doing here? He was causing more harm than good. Still, he resolved himself to return to the hospital tomorrow. At the very least he could report to Ellen about Dean’s wellbeing. And without going to the hospital to see Dean, Castiel had no purpose in San Antonio. Dean was Castiel’s only friend. He just wanted to see him. Was that so wrong? Castiel sniffled miserably and fell asleep.

The next morning, Castiel woke to puffy, bruised feeling eyes and dried tears on his cheeks. He stumbled out of bed and stripped off his clothes from yesterday. He took a brisk shower and brushed his teeth. Castiel caught sight of his nude form in the bathroom mirror and his breath left his lungs. It had been two years and Castiel’s scars still disturbed him. The ugly ridges and the deep, painful gouge. Castiel quickly put on his clothes to cover his shame. He was careful not to cause himself pain as he belted his pants to his hips. He put on his shoes and was about to leave for the hospital when he turned back to grab his assorted poetry book from his suitcase. He didn't know why he wanted to have it with him, but it brought him a wonderful sense of comfort. Then, he left for the hospital.

Once there, Castiel made his slow journey to Dean’s room. With every step, his stomach sank lower and lower in dread of what was to come. It free fell to his feet when he entered Dean’s room and saw that he was awake. An abandoned tray of breakfast was on the table beside him. He stared at the ceiling, but there was more of himself in his eyes today. Castiel timidly knocked on the door.

“D-Dean?” He stammered. Dean jumped and turned to him. His eyes widened briefly, but they settled back to normal so quickly Castiel thought he might have imagined the minute movement. Castiel could see him fighting the sigh that rested on his lips.

“What are you doing here, Cas?” Dean’s voice was husky, like he hadn't spoken in a long time. Or he'd been screaming. Castiel tried to hide his trembling.

“I just want to give you some company.” Dean gave a painful looking shrug.

“No one’s stopping you.” Castiel nervously entered the room.

“May I sit?” Dean gave him a groused glare.

“It's a free country.” Castiel sat in a chair beside him.

“Are you in much pain?” Castiel asked after a moment. Dean sighed.

“M’fine.”

“I could call a nurse…”

“Leave it alone, Cas. I don't want any of their shit.” Silence permeated the room for a while. Dean stared at the ceiling and Castiel stared at his hands. Suddenly, he remembered the book that he'd brought.

“Dean...could I read to you?” Castiel asked softly.

“Really? Uh, Sure.” Dean grunted. Castiel flipped through the book until he found what he was looking for. He took a deep breath and began,

“This is called _Invictus_ , by William Earnest Henley. 'Out of the night the covers me, as black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced, nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade. And yet, the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafriad. It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul'.” Dean watched Castiel with a cool interest while he read and immediately turned away when he finished.

“Beautiful.” Dean paused, clearing his throat. Castiel gazed at Dean’s straight jawline and apple green eyes. “The Poem.”

“Yeah,” Castiel agreed, “beautiful.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me so long to get this out. I have been super busy with school and life but I finally got some time. I hope that you all enjoy. And thank you to all of you who have been following us this entire time, we appreciate you. We also appreciate all of you new readers who are just getting to all of this for the first time. Without you, we wouldn't be doing what we are doing.

Dean tried to listen carefully to the poem that Castiel was reading him. He was never good when it came to poetry, half of the words lost on him. He was not going to tell Castiel that. Castiel was a poetry professor. You don’t tell a poetry professor that you have no idea what anything he just said meant. Dean could blame it on the drugs or the fact that he was not completely himself, but that would be a lie. On a good day, he would not have understood half of what was being read to him. ‘One Fish, Two Fish. Red Fish, Blue Fish.’ That was the kind of poetry Dean could understand, unless it had a deeper meaning. Damn, now he was going to start questioning the good Dr.

Dean pulled himself to his thoughts and looked over at the man sitting beside him, eyes flickering back and forth between the book and Dean. Dean wished he would not look at him but how could he not? Dean was a monster. If Dean saw a monster, it would be hard to look away from it.

Dean looked up at the ceiling, working to fight back the tears that were flooding behind his eyes. He looked back at Castiel, taking in the way his lips moved as he spoke. They moved with so much grace but the meaning deepened as his voice hit Dean’s ears. Castiel’s voice was deeper than he would have imagined and the turn in his gut because of it was unexpected. He had not pictured the man in front of him but to Dean’s surprise, Castiel was so much more.

“Beautiful,” Dean found himself saying, looking at the mess of hair on Castiel’s head falling into his eyes. He was so beautiful. Dean quickly realized though what he had said and moved slightly, shifting himself to his side before speaking his saving words. “The poem.”

“Yeah,” Castiel answered, looking Dean over.

Dean wanted to turn away from him but the last move had taken all of his energy. He could not turn away, he could not run away, he could not hide. Did he really want to hide from Castiel? Yes! His brain screamed at his question. This beautiful man in front him was not for Dean. This man deserved a smart, gorgeous man. He deserved a man who understood the poem he just read. He deserved a man. Dean was no longer a man.

“Thank you for coming,” Dean finally spoke, not sure where the words were coming from.

Castiel had become his friend over the past few months. Maybe Dean did not deserve Castiel as anything more than a friend. Castiel never seemed to be the kind of guy who would turn away from his friends and that was comforting. Dean was injured and his friend came to see him. Dean still deserved to have a friend, right? He had not had many friends to really know. Was this what real friends were like?

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel closed his book and held it in his lap but turned himself to be a little closer to Dean. Dean wanted to turn away but he couldn’t.

Castiel was beautiful. Dean wanted to reach out, run his fingers across his cheek, feel that he was in fact, real. Dean was not ready for Castiel to be real. If Castiel was real, then so were these feelings running through his body. He would no longer just be this angel that Dean had slightly convinced himself that he was. He was real. Dean was not ready for him to be real.

“I think I might need a nurse now,” Dean informed Castiel. All of this was making Dean’s heart race and it was causing the rest of his body to hurt.

“I will get someone for you,” Castiel got up from his chair and entered the hallway and returned a few minutes later. “Someone said they will be right in.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before one of Dean’s nurses entered the room and made her way over to all of the IVs attached to him. Dean was not even sure what was what anymore, there were so many wires. But soon, nothing mattered anymore, the medicine wiped it all away.

“Thank you,” Dean told the nurse before turning his attention back to Castiel. “And thank you.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said again. “I don't want you to be in any kind of pain.”

“Not for that,” Dean shook his head.

“Than for what?” Castiel cocked his head to the side and Dean felt his heart flutter, almost causing a wave of pain again but luckily the medicine was strong.

“For taking the time to write me,” Dean answered quickly, not taking the time to think out his responses. “You didn't have to do that, you know.”

“I enjoyed writing you letters,” Castiel gave a smile to Dean and Dean could not help but give a small smile back. “I should be thanking you for not getting angry at me for reading your letters and continuing to let me write you.”

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Don’t ever thank me.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, though Dean could tell that he wanted to say more. Was he just trying to make Dean happy by agreeing with him?

“Can I ask you a question?” Dean turned to look at Cas.

“You can ask me anything, Dean,” Castiel answered, again shifting slightly closer to Dean.

“Do you,” Dean was not sure what he wanted to ask, all his thoughts racing through his mind. “Why did you come?”


	16. Chapter 16

“Can I ask you something?" Dean was staring at Castiel now. Castiel was trapped in his gaze, unable to move, unable to feel anything but a deep desire to be closer. Dean could ask Castiel anything now, and he would divulge any secret to keep Dean looking at him.

"Of course, Dean," he replied. Dean's eyes skittered about with nervousness, but they never quite left Castiel's face.

"Why did you come?" he asked. There was something desperate in Dean's face, like he had too many questions and too little answers. Castiel understood. Most of the time, he felt the same. Castiel sat back and pondered the question. Why did he come? Because he was madly in love with Dean. Because he would have done anything to see Dean's face outside of a picture. Because Dean was the first human person he connected with in years. Because Dean was the sun around which Castiel revolved and he wanted to feel its warmth.

"I came because you're my friend. I wanted you to know that at least someone gives a damn," Castiel replied. The painkillers had taken ahold of Dean now, Castiel could tell. While the nurse had assured him Dean would only be a little woozy and still perfectly capable of having a conversation, Castiel could see that it was addling some of the things Dean wanted to say.

"But _why_ ," Dean demanded, "why, Cas? Why should I be so important?" Castiel reached forward to rest a bracing hand on Dean's shoulder, but he wasn't sure how it would be taken, so he withdrew before his treacherous fingers ever reached Dean.

"I don't know, Dean. I just...you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. Don't doubt that," Castiel told him.

"How could I be that?" Dean was becoming more and more agitated.

"You were kind to me, Dean. That's all. You were kind." Dean nervously picked at a scar. Castiel wanted to yell at him to stop, but what good would it do. Castiel's heart sank. Here he was, trying to make Dean happy and all he was accomplishing was the opposite. Stupid, stupid.

"Cas," Dean pleaded, "Stop looking at me," Castiel continued to watch him, as he fidgeted and became increasingly unhappy.

"Why?" He regretted the question instantly. A firestorm started in Dean's eyes, and in it, Castiel could see his inner carnage. His chaos. Dean's fire was not for Castiel. No, Dean only burned Dean. Castiel's heart broke as he watched the green eyes he adored ignite with suicidal flames. Castiel could almost hear Dean's thoughts. He was sure they mirrored his own on his bad days.

"Just don't fucking look!" Dean shouted. Here was Castiel's que to turn away and run again. But for reasons he couldn't understand, he didn't. He simply stood stock still and regarded Dean quietly.  
"What the _fuck_ , Castiel, can't you understand English? Don't. Look. At. Me," Dean snapped. Castiel flinched.

"There's no need to be rude," He said evenly, "I'm not going to hurt you." Dean swung his head painfully.

"Just don't look, okay?" and then softly, "I'm a monster."

"No," Castiel said sternly, "no, you're no monster." Rage flared in Dean's eyes, though it was clearly not meant for Castiel.

"You don't know what I am! Look at me. I look like the devil, and I have killed, Cas! Do you understand? _I have killed!_ " Dean slammed a fist against the table beside the bed. Almost immediately, he recoiled in pain, but it seemed to settle something within him. A thrill of fear ran up Castiel's spine. This time, he took Dean's hand in both of his.

"Don't. That isn't the answer," Dean stilled. His mind didn't quiet; Castiel could see it. But, he stilled and to Castiel, that was a start.

"How can you stand to touch me?" He asked. His voice had a broken quality that Castiel would have sold his soul to erase. Castiel pressed Dean's hand to his stomach. He reveled in the warm weight of Dean's hand against him for a moment.

"Because you're beautiful," he whispered, only for Dean." Dean shook his head hard. Castiel saw Dean's arm tense to bear the pain.

"I'm not, Cas! I'm just not." He raised his other hand, the one that was missing a finger. " _Look_! Is this beautiful to you?" Castiel looked at the hand, then returned his eyes to Dean's.

"I'm no stranger to scars. They don't make you less beautiful." Dean scoffed.

"I'm not talking about scars you got when you were five years old and fell off your bike! I mean a fucking bomb blew up and burnt you to a crisp!"

"There's no need to be hostile," Castiel told Dean calmly. Why was he so calm? He didn't know, he just knew that something inside his head, told him he had to remain calm. Dean deflated.

"See what I mean, Cas? I'm a monster. I'll hurt you."

"It would be an honor to be hurt by someone as brave as you, Dean," Castiel replied with fervor. The longer Dean looked at him, Castiel fell more and more deeply for him. How could Dean not see what he saw? How was it even possible?

"Cas," Dean said in exasperation, "you can't look me honestly in the eyes and say that I'm not a monster. The doctors can't, the nurses can't and you certainly can't."

"Of course I can," Castiel replied. He met Dean's gaze. "You are not a monster." Dean gave a mirthless laugh.

"You can't be that stupid, Cas," he said bitterly

"Perhaps I am. But scars don't make a monster, I know that for certain.”

“It's not just the scars, Cas! It's what I've done.”

“Which I'm sure is horrible. But if you have an ounce of remorse, that removes your monster status,” Castiel joked weakly. Dean didn't smile.

“Remorse doesn't change what I did.”

“No. But it does remove intention. And cruel intention makes a monster more than a man put behind a gun. Believe me, I know.”

"And what exactly do you know, Castiel?” Dean asked coolly. Castiel sighed and went to shut the door. Dean looked on. Carefully, he removed his shirt to reveal his scars. He spread his arms to give Dean a clear view. His eyes filled with tears and he gave a deep, shuddering sigh. He ran a practiced finger over the tender skin of gouge above his hipbone. A tear dripped on to his cheek.

"This was made by a monster. That's how I know.” Dean just stared.


	17. Chapter 17

"And what exactly do you know, Castiel?” Dean hated the words as they left his mouth but that was just the story of his life. Dean was good at destroying everything, so why stop now? Castiel was too good for him. Dean needed to make him see that. Why wasn’t he seeing that? He was being stubborn and fighting back against Dean every step of the way. Part of Dean appreciated that Castiel thought he was worth that much but the other half was annoyed. Castiel was making it harder for Dean to deny how he felt about him.

Dean’s eyes wandered over Castiel as he moved to lock the door to Dean’s room. Dean swallowed hard. He was not sure what to expect from Castiel. He wanted to say that he knew the man but they truly knew nothing about each other. Castiel could be some crazy person for all Dean knew, though Dean was sure that he wasn’t. When Castiel turned, and began to unbutton his shirt, Dean quickly moved back to crazy, that is until … until he saw the marks on Castiel’s body.

“This was made by a monster,” Castiel pointed to a rather nasty looking scar above his hipbone, that Dean could not deny he glanced over when the shirt was pulled aside. “That’s how I know.”

Dean’s eyes flickered from the cut, up to Castiel’s eyes which were glistening with tears. Dean could not bear to see Castiel cry, so he moved his eyes back down to the scar, looking it over, along with the rest of Castiel’s chest and stomach.

Dean felt a knot grow in his stomach and he thought that he was going to be sick. Someone had done this to Castiel. There was someone out there that was willing to physically harm the beautiful man standing in front of him. Dean could not understand why anyone would want to hurt Castiel. His name was not the only angelic thing about him. If you were to ask Dean, every aspect of Castiel was that of an angel. He glowed as if he were a bright light from Heaven. Maybe he was an angel.

Dean looks back up at Castiel’s eyes and can tell that he is about to cry. Dean does not want him to cry but he appreciates how vulnerable Castiel has made himself. It makes it easier for Dean to relax in the situation that he is in. Though that makes Dean feel worse in a way. He had to make Castiel feel bad for himself to feel better. If he wasn’t a monster, he still was not a bad guy.

“Can I,” Dean looks to the scar one more time before looking back up to lock eyes once again with an ocean of blue eyes. “Can I touch it?”

“Wh-what?” Castiel stumbled backwards slightly, looking Dean over and then down at his scar. “Y-you w-want to … to t-touch it?”

“Please?” Dean did not break contact with Castiel. He did not want to lose him. Castiel looked like he was ready to bolt and Dean would not blame him if he did.

“Oh...” Castiel took a step toward Dean, his hands trembling at his sides. “Okay.”

Castiel walked slowly to the side of Dean’s bed. His entire body was trembling and Dean wanted to tell him nevermind. He wanted to let him off the hook for what he was about to do. This was obviously hard for him and it was all Dean’s fault. Dean was hurting Castiel. He told him that he would never hurt him and now, here he was, hurting him.

Dean looked over Castiel’s scar again and then looked back up. He was not going to do this unless Castiel was absolutely sure. A few moments passed with just them staring at each other before Castiel finally nodded his head. He was trembling but his eyes were soft, letting Dean know that this was okay. He was okay with Dean doing this. At least, he was hoping to be okay.

Dean slowly began to reach out to Castiel with his good hand. He had a good hand. He had never had a good hand before. But now, he had a good hand and he had a messed up hand. Maybe they would give him some kind of fake finger, something to make him feel more like a whole person. To be honest, he would probably say no. A fake finger would just make him feel stupid. He could live without a finger. People lived with worse.

Dean continued slowly with his fingers. They twitched with the nerves that were eating away at him. He was not sure what it was that was making him angry. Was it that he was about to touch a part of Castiel that seemed to have caused so much pain, or was it just because he was about to touch Castiel? He had dreamed about touching Castiel many times, though now his dreams were going to be different, since he didn’t really know what Castiel looked like before.

Finally, Dean’s fingers made contact with Castiel’s scar and Castiel shuddered. Dean began to pull away but Castiel reached out and stopped him, pulling his fingers back and placing them against his scar. Dean pushed lightly against, it, starting and one end and working his way to the other. Castiel hissed lightly at the touch, closing his eyes tightly.

“No,” Dean stopped moving his fingers but left them pressed to Castiel’s scar. “Open your eyes.”

Castiel quickly opened his eyes and looked down at Dean. He seemed confused by Dean’s actions. Dean knew that he was not expecting any of this. Dean smiled up at him, it was all that he could think to do in the moment.

“I want you to look at me now,” Dean shook his head at the irony. Only minutes ago, he was yelling at Castiel, begging him to not look at him. Now he was telling him to look at him. Even Dean was confused now.  “I don’t want you to picture what happened to you. Just be here with me.”

Castiel sighed at Dean’s words and nodded his head in agreement. Whether or not Castiel was doing as Dean asked, Dean had no idea. He could be reliving what had taken place, in his head, and it would be all Dean’s fault. Once Castiel’s body relaxed against his fingers, Dean believed that his words had made it through, at least for the moment.

Dean’s heart began to race as he moved his fingers along the scar once again. His fingers circling over the thicker spots before moving on. He did this for a few moments before his fingers, against Dean’s will, began to move down and slowly circle over Castiel’s hip bone.

Once Dean realized what it was that he was doing, he pulled his fingers away and turned to look in the opposite direction of Cas. This was a big moment for both of them and Dean was ruining it by some stupid attraction that he had for the man. He was not gay, he did not have stupid attraction to men; even if he was in love with one.

_ Wait! What? In love with what man? Cas? He was in love with Cas? When did he fall in love with Cas? _

“Thank you,” Dean nodded toward the wall, still unable to look up at Castiel.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel’s voice was rougher than Dean had heard it so far. “Anything for you.”

“You can,” Dean finally looked up at Castiel, fighting back tears of his own. “You can touch mine if you like.”

“What?” Castiel tilted his head to the side and Dean could not help but smile softly at how innocent he looked in that very moment. Like a child who was learning something new. Dean wished he knew what that kind of curiosity felt like.

** “My scars,” Dean shifted in his bed towards Castiel. “You can touch them. If you want.”   
**


	18. Chapter 18

“My scars. You can touch them, if you want,” Dean said. He shifted closer to Castiel. Dean’s eyes seemed overly bright, and the very sight made Castiel’s dampen again. A few tears fell onto his cheeks and he sniffled softly. He trembled.

“Do you want me to?” Even his voice quaked. Dean rolled onto his better side in lieu of a response. His arm was thick with lumpy scars surrounded by angry, barely-healed tissue. They stretched up the side of his neck and disappeared beneath his hospital gown. Castiel debated putting his shirt back on, but decided against it. It was only fair for Dean to have unfettered access to him. He carefully leaned over the hospital bed and brushed his fingers against Dean’s shoulder. Dean shut his eyes and a few tears slipped out from his eyes. Castiel immediately withdrew. 

“Did I hurt you?” Castiel asked in dismay. How typical it was, him fumbling about hurting someone he loved. But Dean shook his head and another tear slid onto his cheek. Unable to fight the urge, Castiel brushed the tear away, but he didn't allow his hand to linger there for too long. Dean turned his head like he would have tried to press into Castiel’s touch, but he quickly returned his head to its previous position. He opened his eyes and offered Castiel a gentle smile. Carefully, he guided Castiel’s hand to the scars on his neck. Castiel traced them lightly, lovingly. He allowed his fingers to wander down to Dean’s shoulder. He brushed over it and carefully trailed down Dean’s arm. 

Dean’s good hand returned to Castiel’s gouge. He gently probed around it, his fingers carefully caressed the tender skin and trailed up over the mess of scars on Castiel’s chest. Castiel shuddered, but allowed it, focusing on stroking Dean’s arm. 

“Who did this?” Dean demanded, “Who did this to you, Cas?” His hand was warm and calloused on Castiel’s ribs. Castiel fought the urge to curl in on himself. He'd never spoken about what happened to anyone. He screwed his eyes shut and hefted an exhale to steady himself.

“His name was Alistair.”

“Tell me he's in jail, Cas. Tell me someone locked him up.” Dean's eyes were alight in anger. Castiel was touched. Another tear fell onto his cheek. 

“No, he's not. He...I...well, I couldn't tell anyone what he'd done. So I left. Stayed in a few towns until I ended up in Kansas,” Castiel explained. His voice was small. Dean’s hand stroked his side comfortingly. Castiel wanted to run. The moment Dean’s hand left him, he would bolt. But Dean’s hand didn't leave him. It continued to trace the thatch of scars on his front. And Castiel kept gently petting Dean’s bad arm and down over his hand.

“I'm so sorry, Cas,” Dean whispered, “I'm so damn sorry.”  
“It isn't your fault, Dean. I'm sorry. I'm sure that's the last thing you want to hear, when you've just come back from war.”

“War sucks,” Dean said earnestly, “it makes monsters.” Castiel gave Dean’s hand a pass.

“Not always.” Dean turned away, clearly disagreeing, but seemingly unwilling for another spat. He absentmindedly traced the scars on Castiel's stomach until he realized what he was doing and pulled away with a faint blush. Castiel immediately withdrew his touch. Dean sent him a queer look, the likes of which Castiel had never seen and didn't really know what to do with. Nervously, Castiel pulled his shirt back on and resumed his seat by Dean’s bed. Awkwardness hung thick in the air for a moment. Castiel fidgeted, unable to deal with the silence but lacking the social skills to resolve it. Dean simply watched Castiel. He could practically hear the wheels turning in Dean’s head.

“Could I read something more to you?” Castiel offered. Dean nodded eagerly. 

“Yeah. But I won't get most of it,” he warned nervously, “I'm no good with that kind of stuff.” Castiel waved his confession away.

“I'm a teacher. It's my job to help people understand poetry. It'd be a privilege to help you.” Dean seemed shocked that Castiel wasn't mad. 

“Okay,” he managed, his voice thick with surprise. Castiel picked up his book and flipped through until he found one he liked and began to read.

“Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--not in lone splendour hung aloft the night and watching, with eternal lids apart, like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, the moving waters at their priestlike task of pure ablution round earth's human shores, or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask of snow upon the mountains and the moors--no--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, pillow’d upon my fair love's ripening breast, to feel for ever its soft fall and swell, awake for ever in a sweet unrest, still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, and so live ever--or else swoon to death.” Castiel finished and Dean sighed.

“What was that one?” he asked. 

“Bright Star, by John Keats.” Dean gave Castiel a deeply apologetic look.

“I don't get it.”

“How did it make you feel?” Castiel asked. Dean looked bewildered by the question. Castiel patiently waited while Dean came up with an answer.

“Wistful, I guess. It's like the guy is wishing for something right?” Dean looked at Castiel for approval.

“Yes. The literal meaning of the poem is a man wishing to be steadfast as a star to he could listen to his lover’s breath forever.”

“Creepy,” Dean said. Castiel gave him a small smile. 

“I suppose. I've always found it to be sweet. All he wants is to lie awake just to watch his lover exist.”

“See?” Dean pointed at Castiel. “I told you I don't get poetry.”

“Dean, the point of poetry isn't the literal meaning. It's about the beauty of the words and how it makes you feel. Everyone gleans something different from every poem. You ‘get’ poetry perfectly.”

“Oh.” Dean thought a moment. “But you knew the meaning right off the bat. I barely understood it. I hate to break it to you, Cas, but I'm kind of dumb.” Castiel shook his head.

“You're not. You're very smart. And I didn't know the meaning off the bat. I just know the poem. I spent two weeks discussing it in college,” Castiel explained.

“I've never been to college,” Dean told him, “see? Not smart.”

“Level of schooling doesn't define intelligence, only refines it.” Castiel rested his elbows on his knees. “You're plenty smart. You just don't give yourself enough credit. I'd be willing to wager you could be anything you wanted to. A doctor, an engineer, a lawyer, a painter, anything. I believe in you, Dean. You're life was spared for a reason. You'll do great things, I just know it.”  



	19. Chapter 19

In the last hour alone, Dean had done so many things that he never would have imagined. He touched Castiel, and not just in a friendly way and he admitted things about himself that he never admitted out loud before. He tried to tell Castiel that he was not smart but he seemed to be hearing none of it. No matter how much proof Dean had to back up the fact that he was not smart, Castiel would come back with a retort that shut down Dean’s efforts. He knew he was trying to push Castiel away but Castiel was not having it. So, what was Dean to do?

“I believe in you, Dean.” The words sounded so truthful but a lie all the same. No one had ever believed in Dean. Why would anyone want to start now? “Your life was spared for a reason. You'll do great things, I just know it.”

“Right,” Dean huffed out a laugh.

Castiel made it seem like divine intervention took place. Like there was some higher power out there, one that spared Dean’s life for something more than to watch him suffer. Being alive right now was not a gift for the future, it was a punishment for all the wrong that he had done. His life was spared but his body was scarred. He was a billboard for the world to look at and make assumptions about. It was as if he now had giant letters and a flashing arrow above his head, both screaming ‘look at this piece of shit man. _ Look at him _ !’ Dean wished he would have died over there, but he could not say that to Castiel, not after all the man was trying to do for him.

“Dean,” Castiel’s tone was that of a parent’s, almost. He had never heard it from his father but Ellen used that tone with him on many occasions. It was the tone she used right before she told him to shape up and stop being so down on himself. Dean knew it was not really a time to smile but the thought of Ellen always brought one to his face.

“I know,” Dean leaned back into the pillow his bed and let his eyes flick up to the ceiling, before bringing them back down to Castiel. “It’s just gonna take me some time, Cas. I need time.”

“I understand completely,” Castiel nodded at Dean and for the first time, Dean could see it. Of course, Castiel understood needing time. Both were marked for the world; you don’t just simply move on from something like that. “Take all the time you need.”

Dean considered his options. He had tried to push Castiel away, but that didn't work. It still seemed the best recourse for Castiel, but Castiel simply wouldn't allow it. So, now he had to figure out a new direction to go. Could he open up to Castiel more than he already had? Castiel was here for a reason. You don’t just travel across the country to visit a man you exchanged a few letters with. But Dean was not ready for any of this. He was not ready to be something in someone’s life when he couldn’t even feel compelled to be anything in his own. Though even knowing that he could not be the man Castiel needed in his life, he knew one thing for sure, he needed Castiel. He was not saved because he was destined for great things; he was saved because someone needed him to be and that someone was Castiel.

“Hey Cas,” Dean finally turned his attention back to the man in the room. Why he was doing this was beyond him but it was all he could think of.

“Yes?” Castiel cocked his head to the side and Dean felt his entire body tense up.

“Think you could help me find a place to stay back home?” Dean had lived with Lisa before he had left. Now he had nothing. He did not even have his car, he had given that to Castiel.

“Done,” Castiel assured Dean quicker than Dean had expected. “I have a room that you're welcome to.”

“I can’t ask that of you.” Dean shook his head. “I am not an easy man to live with.”

“And you think I am?” Castiel tried to joke but the seriousness in the room was thick.

“I still can’t accept the offer.” Dean shook his head again as he tried to pull himself up into a sitting position. “Thank you though.”

“What if you stayed with me until we find you a place?” Castiel sweetened the deal. Dean did not want to become Castiel's burden, but he also did not want to stay with Ellen. He loved Ellen and Jo, but they were always very much in his business. They cared, he appreciated it but he didn't need a bunch of caring people swarming him all the time. “Shouldn’t take us more than a few weeks.”

“I would be happy to take the couch for a few weeks, or days,” Dean suggested, trying to show that he would in fact, not be there for long.

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “You will not sleep on a couch. We will find you a bed and you can take it with you when you leave.”

“Cas,” Dean tried to argue but Cas held up his hand to stop him.

“It’s settled,” Cas said sternly and once again Dean’s body tensed up. “When can you leave here?”

“I can leave whenever I want to,” Dean grunted, like a hospital could hold him. “I just have to transition off liquid meds to pills. Once I do that, they will discharge me.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Cas questioned, seeming unsure if Dean was ready to venture out into the real world just yet.

“Yesterday,” Dean laughed. “I’ve been ready to leave since the moment I woke up. Hospitals are not my thing.”

“Okay,” Cas stood up from the chair he was sitting in. “I will go see if I can find someone to help get the process going. I will be right back.”

With that, Castiel was out the door. What had Dean done? Why had he agreed to this? Two weeks. It was only going to be two weeks.


	20. Chapter 20

Two days later, Castiel found himself once again at San Antonio International airport but this time he had Dean Winchester glued to his side. The airport was filled with so many people and sounds just as Castiel remembered and he was once again nauseated by the intensity of it all. Dean remained just behind his shoulder, hyper aware of their surroundings. His steps were careful and every sudden noise or had him recoiling and reaching for a gun he didn't have. Castiel wished there was some way to ease Dean’s anxiety, but he was stiff with his own. In any case, what would he say? What could he say? He knew nothing of a war zone; any sympathy he had was contrived and from his experiences, which of course paled in comparison. So he remained silent and allowed Dean to trail him so closely they were perpetually bumping into one another.

Castiel used an airport pay phone to call Ellen to let her know they would be home in a few hours. He thanked her profusely for taking care of Annabel. She waved him away and told him to have a safe flight. After an affable goodbye, Castiel shouldered his carry on bag and wound through the crowds of people to their gate. As they sat waiting for their flight to Lawrence, Dean became more and more antsy. He bounced his legs and fiddled with the strings of the hoodie Castiel bought him for the flight home.   
Dean had been obstinate in that Castiel should buy the cheapest clothes in the city of San Antonio when he realized he has nothing to wear but his dog tags and his hospital gown. Castiel had waved him off. Dean was Dean. Something about seeing him in ratty clothes when Castiel could provide better ones irked him beyond belief. So, he went to a local clothing store and purchased Dean two pairs of jeans, one pair of sweatpants, a hoodie, two very soft sweaters and three tee shirts. The clothes were not incredibly expensive, but they were nice. More importantly, the covered Dean’s scars. Castiel always kept himself well covered for the same reason and he could only assume Dean would appreciate it as well. 

Originally, Dean was outraged when Castiel gave him the shopping bag.

“I'm not worth all this, Cas! These are so...Jesus how much did you spend?”

"Enough,” Castiel had replied, attempting to keep his voice steady even as his heart sank somewhere near his navel. Dean must have caught sight of something in Castiel’s eyes because he brought his good hand up to rub his brow in contrition. 

"I must sound like a grade A asshole. I really do appreciate them,” Dean lifted his eyes to Castiel’s and plastered a smile on his face that Castiel couldn't help but believe was fake. He pulled the hoodie of his shoulders to prove it. Castiel gave him a nod of approval. Their faces were masks of politeness and the air was thick with the unsaid. 

Now the hoodie adorned Dean's torso and the loose fitting jeans hung around his hips with a borrowed belt of Castiel's. He seemed to want to shrink into the dark fabric and Castiel allowed him his fears in silence. When it came time to board the plane, Dean reluctantly followed Castiel on. They sat abreast in a row toward the back and thankfully did not receive another passenger beside them. The twilit night was darkening with clouds that were heavy with the promise of precipitation. Dean eyed it warily. He tucked his bad arm against his stomach and hunched his shoulder in. He was constantly rocking between the wall of the plane and Castiel. He seemed unable to decide where was the safest place to lean. Pain tightened the muscles around his jaw, and Castiel immediately rummaged through his bag to find Dean's pills. He offered one to Dean, but Dean shook his head, even as he bit his lip so hard the flesh turned white to stop any sounds of his agony from escaping his throat. The engines roared to life and Dean jumped violently. He stilled in his seat but Castiel could see that every muscle in his body was taut and bulging with Dean’s anxiety. It was as though it was so great, it couldn't even be contained by his bones and it bulged out over them like wind against a sheet. The take off was smooth, but Dean gripped the sides of his seat and his breathing became increasingly erratic. Castiel tucked himself into as small a space as he could manage. He too was nervous about the flight, but showing that to Dean seemed like a terrible idea. That was, until the plane reached the clouds and began to buck and drop as it was buffeted by the angry wind. Castiel trembled violently and Dean's breaths came in ragged heaves. 

After a particularly bad moment where the plane fell several feet, Dean's hand shot out and wrapped firmly around Castiel’s wrist. Time seemed to slow and the dark, jolting cabin of the plane seemed like the most insignificant thing in the world. Castiel stared at the hand gripping him. He thought he could feel Dean's embarrassment radiating from him. Though Castiel knew he wouldn't be able to bear the loss of Dean’s hand, he attempted to retract his wrist to spare Dean. Dean's hard grasp turned vice-like when he felt Castiel shift away. Castiel froze in place and looked up. Dean's eyes were unknowable in the cabin’s gloom. The only whisper of their existence was in the reflection of the storm outside the tiny window.

"Don't. Please, Cas, just let me…” Dean's voice was an open wound. It was raw and gurgled wetly with pain and tears. The words were foreign to Castiel; no one had ever begged to keep touching him, but the language of fear and pain was one he was fluent in. He relaxed into Dean’s grip and closed his eyes. Dean’s hand was warm and rough with callouses, and Castiel knew it was damning him. In the vastness of life, he knew there would be only one hand that would touch him the way Dean did. There could only be one warmth so complete that it eased the coldness that had settled in Castiel’s heart. Castiel also knew that the moment was fleeting and that the warmth would be gone and he would be left once again in a void of his inadequacies. The warmth lasted the remainder of the flight and right up until the plane came to a complete halt. When it came time for them to leave the plane, Castiel felt Dean’s hand loosen on his wrist. He shot Dean a pained look, silently begging him to keep holding onto him. To draw him in closer. Dean met Castiel’s gaze and whipped his hand away like he'd been stung. The cruel oblivion once again swallowed Castiel whole.

The walk through the Lawrence Airport was just as anxiety ridden as the walk through San Antonio, but this time, Dean kept his distance. He made sure no part of him came into contact with even the hem of Castiel’s clothes. They quietly collected their luggage and went out to the parking lot where Castiel had left the Impala. Dean was joyous at the sight of his car. He ran a hand over its chic side and brushed off the light dusting of snow there. Castiel wordlessly handed Dean the keys, placed their luggage in the back seat, and got in the passenger side. Dean was more slow, more wary. He sat in the driver’s seat and started it up. He couldn't hold back his glee at the growl of the engine and Castiel was sure he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life. They drove on in silence except for Castiel's voice occasionally offering directions. 

Soon they reached Castiel's apartment building and parked the Impala. Wordlessly, they drug their bags into the building and up the stairs to Castiel's third floor apartment. Castiel fumbled with his keys at the door for a moment but managed to unlock it. As soon as the door was open, they were greeted by Annabel. She gave a happy mrow at the sight of Castiel and frantically twined between his legs. Castiel chuckled and nudged her away so he could enter. He dragged his bag several feet into the living room before turning to Dean who was still hesitating at the door. 

"You have a kitten,” Dean said. His eyes were filled with uncertainty. Castiel nodded and scooped Annabel into his arms. She began to vibrate with purrs. 

"Yes,” Castiel replied, “have I not mentioned her?”

"Well, yeah…” Dean trailed off.

"Is she going to be a problem?” Castiel asked nervously. He couldn't choose between Annabel and Dean. He just couldn't. 

"No,” Dean sighed. He stepped into the apartment and dropped his bags beside Castiel’s. “Hey, Cas, I'm beat. I think I’m just gonna…” Dean inclined his head toward the couch. 

"No,” Castiel replied firmly, “you'll sleep in my bed until we can get you your own.” Dean straightened his shoulders, clearly preparing to fight. 

"Cas, I can't take your bed,” he retorted flatly. 

"Not only can you, but will you,” Castiel snapped, “you're still healing, I am more than capable of sleeping on the sofa, I won't hear any more arguments.” Castiel engaged Dean in a silent war of wills that he ultimately won and Dean slouched off to his bedroom. Once Castiel was certain Dean was settled, he got himself as comfortable as he could and went to sleep. Just before he drifted off, he felt more lonely than ever, even though a few feet away was the only thing he wanted. 


	21. 21

            Dean thought that finally sleeping in a real bed would be wonderful, but he did nothing but toss and turn all night long. His mind was flooded with images and feelings that he could not piece together. There was leftover panic from the flight from Texas to Kansas, memories of the flight which contained Benny’s body and then memories of the letters. Dean was certain he was going to die overseas but he didn’t, he fought to live … because of Castiel.

            If Dean had never gotten a letter from Castiel, he never would have gotten back the desire to survive. After the accident, people kept telling him how lucky he was to survive. How if he would have just been in a slightly different spot, he would have come home in the body bag he had imagined. But something in him knew, it had to know, it was the only explanation. The only reason Dean did not die overseas was because, deep down, he knew he needed to get home to Castiel, the angel that saved his life.

            But now, here he was, sleeping in Castiel’s bed, alone. Was that what he wanted? Didn’t he deserve to come home to his angel, the one he had obviously fallen in love with, and share a bed with him? Castiel should not be out there on that couch, he should be in this bed, curled up next to Dean. Did Castiel even curl up? Dean was not sure how Castiel slept. In fact, he wasn’t even sure of how he slept anymore. Dean had seen what stress could do to a body. Dean did not want to accidentally hurt Castiel in his sleep, just because a nightmare or the confusion as to what could possibly be touching him. So, maybe it was safer for Castiel to be on the couch.

            “Damn it,” Dean grumbled, bringing his hand up to his face and wiping away the moisture that was gathering at his eyes. Dean was not a crier, but suddenly, he felt it was the only option that he had left.

            “Dean?” A voice followed a small knock at the bedroom door. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

            Dean moved off the bed and made his way through the dimly lit room toward the door. He took a small breath in, before pulling it open, coming face to face with Cas and … the bed head. Dean fought back the urge to gasp at how wonderful and funny Castiel looked with bed head. His hair had seemed to generally be unruly anyways, but this was something of a wonder. Dean fought it the best he could but he could not fight back the laugh that escaped his lungs. And it hurt, it hurt so bad but it also felt so good. Dean could not remember the last time he laughed.

            “What is so funny?” Castiel cocked his head to the side inquisitively.

            “Your hair,” Dean smiled, reaching out and smoothing it down. “It’s crazy right now.”

            “Oh,” Castiel flushed red and Dean felt slightly bad for laughing, though he did not mean it in an offensive way.

            Castiel worked to straighten out his hair and Dean composed himself a little bit more.

            “I heard you talking and was afraid you were having a nightmare,” Castiel got back to the point and Dean straightened up. He appreciated that Castiel was worried about him but also hated that Castiel had to worry about him at all.

            “I was,” Dean shuffled on his feet. “I am having trouble sleeping and I was just getting frustrated. I did not mean to wake you.”

            “It is perfectly okay,” Castiel gave Dean a smile. Why did he have to be so damn perfect? “Is there anything I can do to help?”

            “No,” Dean shook his head. Nothing was going to help him sleep except maybe … “Um, actually … maybe you could … maybe …”

            “Anything,” Castiel went to reach for him and Dean tried his best to not pull away, but Castiel stopped himself before making any actual contact. “Just name it.”

            “Could you maybe,” Dean looked toward the bed and then back at Castiel. “Maybe, just for tonight, you could sleep with me.”

            “Oh,” Castiel’s eyes flickered toward the bed and Dean could see a certain reluctance in his eyes.

            “I just want to not feel alone tonight,” Dean was not actually sure what caused him to ask for this but he was not turning back now. Castiel was the reason that he was alive. He had to keep reminding himself that Castiel was not the bad thing in his life. “You don’t have to though. It was just a thought.”

            “Are you certain?” Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. “I do not want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

            “I would not ask for it if I felt I could not handle it,” Dean tried to sound confident, but the thought of being in bed with Castiel terrified him, for more reasons than he could accurately put into words.

            “Okay,” Castiel nodded after taking a few long moments to think it over. “But if at any point, you would like me to go back to the couch, please, do not hesitate to tell me to do so.”

            “You have my word,” Dean nodded, stepping out of the way so that Castiel could come into his room.

            “Okay,” Castiel nodded again, a concerned look plastered to his face. Dean was not sure what was causing the concern. Had Dean read the situation with Castiel wrong? Was he afraid that Dean would do something and that is not what he wants? Dean felt that he had this one right but he had been wrong more times in his life than he had been right.

            Dean made his way over to the side of the bed that he had been not really sleeping on. That helped to let Cas know where he was. Though, it was Castiel’s bed, it would only be fair to let him sleep on whatever side he wanted to sleep on.

            “Which side do you normally sleep on?” Dean finally asked, looking down at the right side of the bed. “I can go to that side if you like?”

            “This side is fine,” Castiel assured Dean, pulling back the top cover and sitting himself down. “I don’t really have a set side. I have never really been bothered by one or the other.”

            “Okay,” Dean knew he had said that word a lot in the last few minutes but he could not seem to make any more conversation than he already was. If there was one thing Dean was bad at, it was words.

            They both laid down in the bed, flat on their backs, looking up at the ceiling. Dean had expected this to be uncomfortable and it was, but this was different. This was like that first date. You finally get to that kiss but where do you put your hands? Do you remain stiff? Do you use tongue or is that too much for a first date? It was that over complicated feeling that could be less complicating if someone just took control over the situation. Was Dean ready to take the control? Did Castiel want Dean to take the control?

            “Cas,” Dean rolled on his side, looking over Castiel. He was clothed, but Dean could see the lean muscles of his body against the dim light in the room. He knew what Castiel looked like under his shirt, so it did not make it hard to imagine it now. The thought left a small lump in Dean’s throat that he had to worked hard to swallow down.

            “Yes, Dean?” Castiel turned his head to face Dean but did not move his body.

            “Can I …” Dean trailed off. He made brief eye contact with Cas but then looked away. He did not know how to do this. He was going to mess all of this up with a simple sentence. He was good at messing things up.

            “Dean?” Cas spoke his name quietly but it was strong enough to bring Dean’s eyes back up to his. “You don’t have to be afraid to ask me things. I am not running away.”

            “Okay,” Dean nodded.

            Dean looked Castiel over again. Castiel was not running but that did not mean that Dean was not going to. He was good about running away. He had run away from every hard moment in his life. He went so far as to run away, to the other side of the world, just in hopes that he could die. Dying was supposed to be his ultimate running away. Dean ran away. What if this was too much for him and he hurt Cas? He did not want to hurt Cas. But he was going to hurt Cas. Could he be selfish enough to take what he wanted in the process?

            “Can I … can you …” Dean took a shallow breath and then made eye contact with Castiel one last time. “Can you hold me?”


	22. Chapter 22

“Dean? You don't have to be afraid to ask me things. I'm not running away,” Castiel lied. He could barely see Dean in the darkness of the room. But he could taste Dean’s hesitation

“Okay,” Castiel could sense Dean steeling himself. Against what, he couldn't know.

"Can I...can you...can you hold me?” Whatever Castiel was expecting Dean to say, that certainly was far from it. He quickly rolled onto his side.

“What?” He asked breathlessly. He imagined embarrassment reddening Dean’s cheeks and he had an urge to press his hand to them to feel the blood heat the flesh. Dean gave a long shuddering exhale. 

"Can you hold me? Please?” Dean sounded a little desperate. Castiel felt a deep urge to rip away from him and flee to the safety of his sofa. He didn't...he _couldn't_. But he had to. Dean, beautiful Dean, needed Castiel to hold him and Castiel would be damned if he let him down. There was so much time for that elsewhere. Right here, right now, Castiel could have the privilege of holding Dean in his arms. Certainly, this was a miracle and the only time Castiel would ever be this close to Dean, so flight wasn't an option. He needed to hold still for once, and allow this to happen.

“Yes,” he whispered, “of course. Come here.” He extended his arms, reaching for something he couldn't allow himself. Dean shuffled awkwardly to Castiel, and soon they were chest to chest. He eased his forehead against Castiel's throat. Carefully, so, so carefully, Castiel brought his arms around Dean and cradled him. He was careful with the tightness of his embrace, so as not to cause Dean any more pain than he was already in. Dean nuzzled closer. Castiel shifted softly so Dean’s nose and mouth slotted against his shoulder. Dean curled himself loosely and Castiel drew him closer still. Unable to restrain himself, he dropped his nose to Dean’s hair. The short strands tickled him, nonetheless he took a great inhale. Dean smelled human, and male, and real and a little coconut-y, like Castiel’s shampoo. Castiel swallowed sharply. He never expected the rightness he felt at having Dean in his arms. Now he was worried more than ever that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself from ruining this. 

“Cas?” Dean mumbled against his chest. He threw an arm around Castiel’s middle to bring him closer. 

“Dean?” Castiel had meant to say yes, but it would have been a sin to mention any other word while Dean was in his arms. Dean’s warm breath puffed out against his collarbone, and the feel of it made Castiel rub an errant hand in a gentle circle over Dean’s back. 

"Tell me a story,” Dean whispered. He pressed his warm cheek against Castiel. 

"What kind of story?” Castiel asked. 

“The kind that doesn't hurt,” Dean replied.

“Dean, I'm not so good at stories…” Castiel worried his lip. 

“Cas, please. Let me have this. I don't know that I'll get the chance to hear a story like this again.” Was Dean still talking about a story?

“Okay,” Castiel conceded, “Once upon a time in a far off land there was a desert. It was peculiar because it was a desert of cold. Most people thought that meant there was water abound, but nothing could have been further from the truth.” He felt Dean’s eyes on him. Nervousness made him a shudder, but Dean’s arm around him gave him the bravery to continue. 

“Yeah?” Dean urged him on. 

"There was no water, but it rained often. Though, these were no ordinary rains. Bullets poured from the skies, and because of it many lost their lives. One would think that in a situation such as that, people would show kindness to one another. Unfortunately, people remained people and they began to war against one another.

“No one knew what started the war, but both sides had their stories. In the end it didn't matter what started it, only the hatred that came out of it. After generations and generations of war, the soldiers began to lose sight of what they were fighting for. Their countries, I suppose, but for what? What was the meaning of it all? 

“One day, many, many years after the war began, there was a lonely soldier in the peculiar desert. By day, he loaded his gun with bullets from the rain and fired them, but by night he unloaded his gun and stood in the rain without his armor. You see, this soldier had heard that angels were in the rain, and he wanted to know if it was true. The others in the regiment deemed him suicidal, for after all, who would stand unprotected in a hail of bullets?

"The soldier ignored them. And every night, he stood in a rain, waiting, watching. After months of this, the other soldiers took pity on him. They offered to send him home. ‘You have a family, don't you?’ they asked, ‘don't you want to see your family?’ The soldier did not have a family, that's why he was so lonely. That's why he stood in the rain of bullets looking for angels. He didn't tell the other soldiers this. He simply shed his armor and stepped out into the rain. He tilted his face up to the heavens, because that's where legends told the angels lived. He blinked through the metal, even as the bullets bored holes in him and his blood ran like streams. Even as his bones broke and he fell to the ground in a shattered pile, his eyes were cast above him, looking. 

“It was when the soldier was broken into a million pieces that the rain stopped and the stars shone and he heard the voice of an angel. The angel said to him, ‘solider, you have shown yourself worthy. You sought us when the rest lost belief in angels. As a reward for your loyalty, I will give you this piece of advice: go home. There you will find someone broken like you, and they will try to put you back together.’ The soldier thanked that angel and immediately followed the angel’s advice. He went home to seek the other like him.” Castiel finished. Throughout his story, Dean had huddled against him. Castiel imagined him listening intently.

“So, that's it?” Dean demanded, “what happens next? Did the soldier find the person like him? Did he get put back together?” Castiel carefully titled his hold around Dean.

"Well, that part of the story isn't written yet. The ending remains to be seen,” he replied. They were quiet for a while. Castiel was about to drift off again when Dean whispered,

“Cas?” 

"Yes?” Castiel murmured.

"Could you...I mean, you don't have to stay all night if you don't want to, but could you hold me until I fall asleep?” Dean's nervousness had returned. Castiel nuzzled into the top of Dean’s head. 

“I won't let go till you ask me to.”

“Thanks. G’night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”  



	23. twenty three

            Cas’ story was not the happiest of stories, at least, not in the sense that Dean was expecting. He expected some story about heroes and fluffy bunnies and gold at the end of the rainbow. Well, maybe nothing that extreme, but the words that flowed from Castiel’s lips were not what he had been hoping for. Though, it was not as bad as it could have been. When Dean finally realized that it was the story of them, his heart nearly stopped. He was not alone in this. Castiel was right there with him, somewhat on the same page. But nothing could come of this. He was not designed for a happy ending.

            “So, that’s it?” Dean did not mean for his words to come out as harsh and demanding as they did, but he was not ready for the story to be over. Where was the happy ending? “What happens next? Did the soldier find the person like him? Did he get put back together?”

            Dean knew the answers. He had found the other broken soul but he was far from put back together. He wished it was as simple as that but this was not a fairytale.

            "Well, that part of the story isn't written yet.” Dean cuddled into Castiel at the words. Those were not the words that he was hoping for. He needed Castiel to tell him that they were going to live happily ever after, that they were going to get that gold. But he didn’t and Dean had to accept that. “The ending remains to be seen.”

            Dean asked Cas to hold him until he fell asleep and Cas agreed. What Dean did not expect, was to find Cas, curled up next to him, the following morning. Dean looked over Castiel, now bathed in the morning light. And in that light … Cas was beautiful but in a broken way. He reminded Dean of a story his mother used to read him when he was young. Dean hated to admit that he was a reader but from time to time he would still read the story.

            “By the time you are real,” Dean spoke the words quietly, looking over Cas’ entire form, half covered, foot hanging off the end of the bed, “most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out …”

            “And you get loose in the joints and very shabby,” Castiel cut him off with a gravelly voice that crackled due to lack of use. He sounded incredible when just waking up. Cas continued on, eyes remaining closed. “But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

            “Morning,” Dean spoke through a smile he couldn’t hold back. It only brightened when Castiel opened his eyes. He was not sure if it was the good night sleep or if it was because, for the moment, even though he wouldn’t say it, he did not have to hide the fact that he loved Cas. No matter how the love worked, he loved him.

            “Good morning, Dean,” Castiel smiled back at him, his blue eyes almost glowing in the light. “Did you sleep okay?”

            “I slept amazing,” Dean rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Can’t remember the last time I slept like that.”

            “That is very good to hear,” Castiel smiled before sitting himself up and moving to the edge of the bed.

            “Wait,” Dean reached out and pulled Castiel back down. Castiel stiffened and for a moment, Dean’s heart sunk but soon Castiel’s body loosened back up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

            “It is alright,” Castiel tried to reassure Castiel but his voice didn’t seem as sure as his words. “I was just not expecting it.”

            “I just … um … I wasn’t,” Dean could feel his face going flush and suddenly this all became a bad idea. All of this was a bad idea.

            Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to regain himself but none of it was working. He was getting in over his head with this one. He needed to get up and go. He could go crash at Ellen’s. At least as Ellen, he was not ruining anyone’s life by the decisions that he was making; well, no one but his own. But he did not have to feel bad about ruining his own life, however, he would feel like a horrible person, more horrible than he already felt, if he ruined Cas’ life as well.

            “I don’t think I should be here.” Dean finally admitted, but he did not allow for himself to look at Cas.

            “What?” Cas turned onto his side to look at Dean but Dean remained still.

            “I don’t belong here,” Dean brought his arm up over his eyes, he did not need for Castiel to see him cry.

            “Dean?” there was a slight tremble in Castiel’s voice and Dean wanted to cry more. He was already hurting him. He was always going to hurt him. “Please?”

            Dean worked to bring his breathing back to normal. He did not want to run. He wanted to stay. He wanted to smile or at least put on a smile until it become completely genuine. He wanted to be normal and feel like he deserved happiness. He wanted Castiel. He still felt weird about this part. He did not know anything about Castiel, nothing beyond his letters and what little he had gathered from knowing him in person. But he wanted to. For the first time in … well ever, he wanted to know someone completely. But this … this was not … he couldn’t allow…

            “Fuck,” Dean muttered, turning to face Castiel who was just inches from his face.

            “Please,” Castiel said those words again with so much desperation in his voice. “Please give me a chance.”

            “A chance to what?” Dean did not know what Castiel wanted from him.

            “To put you back together,” with fear in his eyes, Castiel leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Dean’s.

            Dean felt the desire to pull back but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned into the kiss. The kiss itself was light and soft but mixed with stubble and slightly chapped lips. It was far from what Dean had ever imagined kissing Cas would be like but in that, it was perfect.

            “Okay,” Dean let more tears roll from his eyes, before finally closing them and kissing Cas again. “Okay.”


	24. Chapter 24

Lips. Warm, chapped, surrounded by the first whisper of stubble. Lips. Oh, Castiel was well acquainted with lips. Soft, cold, dripping with Castiel's own blood, pressed against his own or elsewhere. Yes, Castiel had known his fair share of lips, but none could compare with Dean's. Nothing could compare with the gentleness of the initial press. Castiel could taste Dean’s fear. He instantly withdrew and Dean’s eyes welled with yet more tears. 

“Let me put you back together,” Castiel murmured, “let me try.”

“Okay.” Tears dripped from beneath Dean’s half lidded eyes. He closed the distance between himself and Castiel, and gently returned Castiel’s kiss. Castiel melted against Dean like warm butter. Dean kissed him chastely. Only a stream of closed-mouth kisses, but it was the most intimate moment Castiel had ever experienced. He'd never felt closer to anyone in his life in the moment with his lips pressed to Dean's.

Dean rolled onto his back and pulled Castiel along with him. He sat up and Castiel knelt between his legs. Love thrummed through Castiel. It beat his heart and made his head spin. What a gift it was to kiss Dean Winchester. What a gift. Dean reached out and brushed his fingers against Castiel’s cheek. Castiel pressed his face into Dean’s hand. Dean looked delighted and leaned closer.

"Can I kiss you again?”

“Always,” Castiel said. It was the only thing permanent enough for it to be true

“If I did, would you use your tongue?” Dean seemed much more nervous now. Castiel could see regret flitting in the wrinkle that had appeared between Dean’s brows. 

“Do you want me to?” Castiel wetted his lips. In lieu of a reply, Dean leaned forward, lips parted and met Castiel in the middle. Castiel allowed his mouth to hang slightly agape, and Dean's tongue slid between his teeth. These kisses were wet, little sloppy, and they made odd slurping noises. Still, nothing could have been more beautiful. It was the imperfections that made them perfect. 

Castiel held Dean’s face in both of his hands. His thumbs swiped beneath Dean’s closed eyes to remove the drying tears. Dean kissed him with more fervor, but never did they lose their gentleness. Castiel pulled away from Dean’s mouth to leave wet kisses on Dean’s neck. Dean tossed his head and let out a tiny whimper. Encouraged, Castiel continued to leave sweet kisses on Dean. Dean pulled Castiel closer, until Castiel’s knee brushed the erection tenting Dean’s sweats. They both froze. Castiel pulled away from Dean’s neck to look him in the eye. Dean’s cheeks colored deep scarlet with mortification.

“Cas, I'm so sorry,” Dean said wildly, “it just sort of happened, and…” Castiel cut him off with a warm, bracing hand on the back of his neck. Castiel looked away nervously.

“I could...I mean, I could...stroke you...if you want me to,” Castiel trailed off awkwardly. 

“Cas, you don't have to.” Dean's tone was hard. “I've taken so much from you, you don't have to do _this_.”

“You aren't _making_ me do anything,” Castiel replied meekly. He took Dean’s good hand and lowered it to the bulge between his shivering thighs.

“Cas…” Dean’s breath hitched. Castiel leaned forward to swallow it in another kiss. He pulled back and toyed with the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants. 

“Is this okay?” He asked anxiously. Dean's eyes were wide and fearful, but he nodded his affirmative. He lifted his hips and Castiel slid the pants down until Dean’s length bobbed free. Castiel hesitated a moment and then removed his own pants. Once again, he was sure if he was allowed to touch Dean, it was only fair that Dean could touch him in return. Castiel looked inquiringly at Dean one more time. Dean bit his lip, but nodded.

“It's okay,” he whispered. Castiel carefully reached forward to skate his fingertips lightly over Dean’s shaft before enclosing it in the firm grip of his hand. Dean keened and canted his hips. Castiel began an even rhythm of movements that Dean encouraged with bucks of his hips. He leaned his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder and timidly reached between his legs. 

"You too, Cas,” he whispered. Castiel groaned at Dean’s touch. His hand was rough and warm and so, _so good_.

"Are you clean? Do you know?” Castiel asked. He thumbed the head of Dean’s cock, wringing a moan from him. 

"Ye-fuck, Cas-yes I am,” Dean huffed. 

“Good. So am I,” Castiel replied, before carefully shuffling forward and slotting them together. Twin moans shattered the air, though they were only the preface of silence. The lines of friendship they had tried not to blur were wiped away with the roll of their hips. Castiel carefully wrapped his hand around both of them, and he could barely contain a whine that ripped itself from his throat. Both of Dean’s hands came out to grip Castiel’s shoulders. 

“Cas. I can't do this...I don't know how…I,” Castiel slowed his movements and watched Dean fearfully. If he said what they were doing was wrong, Castiel would die. No question.

“Dean?” His voice quaked.

“Cas, please, you gotta…” Dean paused, “Tell me a poem. Do you know any by heart? Just tell me a poem and don't...don't stop moving.” Castiel nodded slowly. He wanted to pet Dean so he would be comforted, but he was using his left to hold himself up and his right to hold them together, and that's all he had. He could just hold the most intimate parts of them together and hope it was enough. He began to thrust his hips again, and Dean started right along with him. For a moment, the only sound in the rooms were the quiet gasps of the delicious friction. 

“How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul?” Castiel began. Dean moaned,

“ _Cas_ ,” Castiel continued,

“How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things? I would like to shelter it, among remote lost objects, in some dark and silent place that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.” Their thrusts grew quick. There was a symphony of breathing and groaning. 

“Cas, I'm gonna come,” Dean barely got the words out before spilling release over their cocks and spilling Castiel's name over his lips. Castiel was soon to follow, coating their middles in sticky, white semen. 

“ _Dean_ ,” he murmured, like no other name could ever grace his lips.

“What's the end of the poem, Cas?” Dean seemed desperate as he came down from his orgasm, “tell me that's not how it ends.”

“It's not,” Castiel assured him. He collapsed on top of Dean and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “It ends: yet, everything that touches us, me and you, takes us together like a violin’s bow, which draws one voice out of two separate strings. Upon what instrument are we two spanned? And what musician holds us in his hand? Oh, sweetest song.”

“That's really pretty, Cas.” Dean's voice was warm with something like happiness. They lay pressed together for several minutes longer. Dean’s arms came to encircle Castiel. But finally Castiel got up to get a warm washcloth. He cleaned himself off in the bathroom, and then returned to offer Dean the cloth. Dean shook his head. 

"You do it.” Castiel nodded and carefully wiped off Dean’s stomach. Tenderly, he cleaned Dean’s penis, then threw the cloth in his hamper. Dean gave his lips a soft kiss in thanks. Castiel checked the clock on his bedside table and got up to get dressed. 

"I have to be to work in an hour,” he told Dean as he buttoned down a white oxford shirt. “Will you be okay here for a few hours?” Dean sat up. 

“Can I come with you?” He asked, “I promise I won't disrupt you or anything. I could just sit on you desk.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel turned to Dean as he buttoned up his slacks, “I don't want to bore you.”

"I won't be bored and I'll be really quiet,” Dean promised fervently, “please, just don't leave me alone.” Castiel nodded. 

“If it's what you want, I'm a teacher. Who am I to deny anyone learning?” Dean gave him a grin, though behind there seemed something almost relieved. He pulled on jeans and a sweater from his bag. 

They ate a quick breakfast and Castiel fed Annabel, before they headed out to the Impala. Dean had the keys, and Castiel was more than content with him driving. Soon they reached the university and Dean parked the Impala. They walked into the building and Castiel navigated the wide halls to his amphitheatre of a classroom. Castiel pulled out his book of Auden, and Dean made himself comfortable in Castiel’s chair. Soon, the students filed in and took their seats. Castiel had never felt braver before his class than when Dean was seated behind him. He opened his poetry book and aloud, he began to read.

 


	25. Chapter 25

Dean was not sure what he was thinking when he asked if he could go to work with Castiel. Well, that wasn't true, he knew exactly why he did it. He knew himself. If he were to be left alone, there was nothing stopping him from bolting. Even his desire to stay would not be able to overcome the flight response that was buzzing in his head.  _ Run now. Get out while you can. Save Castiel the pain you are sure to cause him.  _ He heard these thoughts loud and clear, but he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to leave Castiel behind. So, here he was, sitting in Castiel’s classroom desk, watching students file in, eyes clearly questioning his being there.

“Good Morning,” Castiel greeted his students with a smile. Dean was not sure if he was always this friendly and smiling or if it had to do with Dean, but the smile suited him and Dean could not help but smile in response.

“Who’s the guy?” One student finally asked, seeming unashamed of her curiosity.

“This is Dean,” Castiel answered her, though his voice was loud enough to carry for all the eavesdropping individuals. “He is a dear friend of mine and will be sitting in on our class today. He has never seen me teach, so this is his chance.”

The girl who had originally asked the question eyed Dean one more time, before shrugging her shoulders and making her way towards her seat. She then began to chat with those around her. Dean tried to ignore the small whispered that surrounded him but it was hard when he knew he was the subject of their hushed tones.  _ Do you see those scars? What do you think happened to him? Is this why Professor Novak was gone? _ Dean felt the urge to bolt but stopped when Castiel turned the attention to himself and started the class. Dean was grateful for the change of pace.

“As I walked out one evening,” Castiel began to recite a poem, and Dean found himself, once again, lost in the beauty that was Castiel’s voice. “Walking down Bristol Street, the crowds upon the pavement, were fields of harvest wheat.”

Castiel moved slowly about the front of the class, looking up from his book more than he looked at it. That told Dean, that he knew this poem by heart, along with so many others. Dean never understood the point of poetry or took the time to enjoy it, but now, in this moment, listening to Castiel recite the words, Dean could feel their beauty … and their sadness.

_ “O stand, stand at the window _

_ As the tears scald and start; _

_ You shall love your crooked neighbor _

_ With your crooked heart.' _

_ It was late, late in the evening, _

_ The lovers they were gone; _

_ The clocks had ceased their chiming, _

_ And the deep river ran on.” _

Castiel glanced back at Dean as he finished the poem, setting the book down at the desk where Dean sat. They locked eyes for a moment, before Castiel finally turned back to his classroom.

“What would one assume is Auden’s  views on love?” Castiel asked the class but Dean could not help but think about the answer himself.

_ It means this is going to end horribly,  _ Dean thought to himself, his eyes moving up to follow Castiel as he moved across the room again.  _ But loving you until then is going to be worth it. It has to be worth it. _

_____

“So,” Castiel sat down on the edge of the desk, smiling down at Dean. “How was your first poetry class?”

“Informative,” Dean answered truthfully. He had learned more in the last hour and half, about himself, than he had learned in his entire life.

Dean never felt like he deserved to be loved. It was his job to take care of others, give them all his love and never accept anything in return. No one ever tried to love him in return, so he just believed it to be the truth. Sam was the exception, the one person who loved him more than anything in the world, but it wasn’t true. Dean had never let Sammy see him. He had always put on a tough front. He could never let Sam in to see the truth. No one had ever seen how lonely, scared and helpless he truly was. Castiel did not see it either, but he wanted him to. He wanted Castiel to see him.

“I would be interested in knowing what you thought of the poem,” Castiel did not directly ask him how the class was informative, but he could tell this was Castiel’s way of indirectly getting to the point.

“It had a lot of …” Dean tried to think of how to best answer this. “Words.”

“Yes,” Castiel chuckled softly and Dean felt his heart speed up. “Poetry tends to consist of many words. Was there anything particular about the words that stood out to you?”

“Yeah,” Dean swallowed hard. Could he be honest with Castiel right now? He wanted Castiel to know him but that involved letting his walls down and letting Castiel in. He had never let a single person past his walls, not since his mother died when he was four. “The part uh … the part about loving your crooked neighbor, with your crooked heart.”

“Yes, I quite like those lines as well.” Castiel smiled, his eyes working to read Dean a little further. “I am glad you could find something meaningful within the poem.”

“Me too,” Dean nodded in agreeance, kind of sad that Castiel did not seem to be pushing the subject. He understood why, but he wished that Castiel would just force it out of him, that would make it easier.

“Would you like to get some lunch?” Castiel changed the subject, working to gather up his things into his bag. “There’s a great burger place down the street.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, standing up from the chair he had been sitting in. It would have been simple to leave it there but nothing about this was simple.  _ Get over yourself, Winchester. Rip it off like a band aid. Stop being such a baby.  _ Dean shook his head at his thoughts before blurting out. “I’m broken.”

“What?” Castiel stopped what he was doing and brought his eyes up to meet with Dean’s.

“I’m broken,” Dean took a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not just physically Cas, emotionally. I have been broken much longer than just since the war. I don't know to let people in. I run when things get hard. I treat my words like poems, using a string of words to try and say something that I could easily just say but I can’t.”

“Dean,” Castiel went to speak but Dean pulled his hand out of his pocket and raised it up to stop him.

“Wait. There is more.” Dean needed to get this out or he would never say it. “So, yeah, I am broken. I talk sweet to my car but not to people. I’m kind of an asshole and I have commitment issues to the extreme but … but …”

“I am broken as well,” Castiel finally spoke when Dean could not seem to go on with his words.

“I know,” Dean nodded, looking down at his feet. “That is why I want …”

There was a silence between them before Dean finally brought his eyes back up to Castiel’s “I want to let my broken … love your broken.”


	26. Chapter 26

“That is why I want...I want to let my broken love your broken.” Dean met Castiel’s eyes, and the earnestness in them was staggering. A surge of adrenaline came and went in the span of a second, leaving Castiel to tremble so hard his very bones must have been wracked with shivers.

Castiel's life was surrounded by words. He lived them, breathed them, hell, he even made a living teaching them, and yet, never had he heard such words in that order, addressed to him. And the moment he heard them, he knew he loved those words more than any he'd ever hear. And more than that, he loved who they came from.   
Dean reached out and brushed his fingers against Castiel’s jaw. Castiel took one step closer. 

“Dean.” The only name that mattered. Even his own paled in comparison.

“Cas, I know I'm not easy. Being with me is going to be hell.”

“It would be a privilege to burn in your brimstone.” Castiel closed the distance between them and was rewarded with Dean’s arms coming to encircle his waist. 

"You don't get it. I have spikes.” Dean spat the last word, but without venom. Only an encompassing weight that felt to Castiel as blades. Blades protecting blades. 

“No, _you_ don't get it. I would gladly impale myself on your demons,” Castiel said with maddening fervor. It seemed Dean’s honesty had opened the floodgates to his own. “I don't mind your pain or your punishment and I would suffer every second of my life simply to have you beside me.”

“Ah, Cas,” Dean pulled Castiel’s juddering body in tight and nuzzled his nose into Castiel’s hair. “I don't know that I'm worth that.”

“You are,” Castiel persisted.

“Bullshit,” Dean snarled, alarming Castiel enough that he pulled away to search for danger in Dean’s face. His body curled in defensively on muscle memory. Dean clearly understood what Castiel was doing because his expression immediately softened. “Bullshit,” he said again, but gentler. He cupped both of Castiel’s cheeks. “I have never been worth it. I've never been sweet or good. Never. Not since my mom died. But you, oh God, you, Cas,” Dean paused, inhaled, “You're so sweet and good. I'll never deserve you.”

“You're wrong,” Castiel shook his head vehemently, “I'm not sweet. And I'm far from good. All I am, Dean, is a coward with scars.”

“A coward with scars,” Dean repeated. He seemed unconvinced. “Then I guess we're one in the same.” 

“I guess so.” Castiel stepped away from Dean’s hold. “Come on. Let's go see about lunch.”   
Dean nodded, but his eyes were hazed over. What was he thinking about? Castiel worried, but there was nothing he could do. They walked silently out to the car and Castiel contented himself with the passenger seat while Dean got in the driver's side and started it. The Impala growled to life and Dean drove to the diner Castiel had described. 

“Hey Cas?” Dean asked as he turned onto a side road. Castiel regarded him.

“Yes?”

“Every time something happens, you start getting all shaky. It's kinda scary.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked down. “I'm sorry.” 

“No, that's not what I meant.” Dean pulled up a stoplight and sent a warm, albeit concerned glance Castiel’s way.

“It's just, are you okay?”

“Oh. I believe so,” Castiel shrugged, “I didn't use to be so prone to these...fits. After my last encounter with Alistair it started. I'm sorry if it bothers you.”

“Not really. I just...I want you to be okay.” Dean pulled into the diner’s parking lot. 

“There really isn't an easy answer to that,” Castiel said truthfully. Dean’s expression dropped and Castiel was quick to add, “but with you, it's always better.”   
Dean gave Castiel a disbelieving look, and silently exited the car. Castiel followed suit and they entered the diner.

A pretty young waitress lead them to a booth and gave them menus. Castiel only looked through it as a courtesy. He came here often enough that he already knew what he wanted. Dean put his menu up and Castiel couldn't help but feel it was a barrier between them. Dean flicked his eyes to Castiel from over its top. It seemed like he wanted Castiel to cross it. When the waitress came by to take their orders, Castiel tugged the menu from Dean’s hands. He looked up at the waitress.

“Two bacon cheeseburgers, fries and,” Castiel looked to consult with Dean. “The apple pie here is rather good. Shall we get a slice?” Dean's face split into a wide grin. 

“Hell yeah!” Castiel looked back to the waitress.

“And two slices of apple pie.” She nodded and walked away. Dean tossed a smile at Castiel. Castiel caught it and held it, fragile as a bird, close to his heart.  
Their meal was mainly a quiet affair. Dean devoured his food like a starving man, barely taking time to breathe before forcing more down his gullet. It made Castiel wonder if he was always this way or if he had eaten poorly before. Castiel attempted to shrug off the worry his latter thought arose and took it as a good sign. People didn't eat if they weren't comfortable. At least, Castiel didn't. After their meal had been paid for, courtesy of Castiel, they wandered slowly out to the Impala.

“What're we gonna do now?” Dean asked as they resumed their seats in the car. 

“Well, I was thinking we could get you a bed of your own,” Castiel replied. He was loathe to allow Dean to leave his side at night, but he knew Dean’s privacy was more important than his own stupid desires. An uncomfortable silence filled the car for a moment. Dean’s cheeks pinkened and he looked anywhere but Castiel.

“I was thinking…maybe, maybe I could stay in your bed with you?” Dean mumbled.

“If that's what you want, I'm more than happy to have you beside me,” Castiel said nervously, despite the bubbly happiness that filled his insides. 

“So, then what?”

"Let's go back to the apartment. I have a lot of grading I need to do.”

“Okay.” Dean looked relieved, though Castiel didn't quite know why.

“Okay,” Castiel agreed. Dean navigated the roads back to the apartment, and once they were inside, he and Castiel sat at a small table and Dean helped Castiel grade some essays. 

"Are you sure you want my help?” Dean was asking, “I don't know anything about…” he looked at the the title of the essay in front of him, “How the devices and meanings of Auden’s major works relate to his style as a whole.”

"Of course I want your help. Don't over think it, Dean, just follow the grading rubric and if you aren't sure, leave it alone and I'll get to it later.”

"Okay…” Dean said uncertainly. They graded for hours and made a sizable dent in Castiel's work. Dean for all his misgivings was a strict and accurate grader, even finding the courage to add comments once he was sure of what he was doing. Castiel for his part felt utterly distracted by Dean. He wanted to twine himself around Dean and kiss him. Maybe the closer they got, the more their brokenness would fix. Castiel didn't know. All he did know is that he would gladly break off pieces of himself to fix the holes in Dean.

After grading, Castiel was shocked to find it was dark outside. He fixed them a dinner of canned soup. He felt awful that he didn't have anything more. Dean wolfed it down just the same, but Castiel somehow felt he'd failed. Castiel fed Annabel and gave her a few minutes of petting, then he and Dean took turns showering. Castiel flushed red when Dean exited the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his hips, and Castiel quickly disappeared into the bathroom to hide his embarrassment. The brushed their teeth and Castiel dressed in a tee shirt and his boxers, while Dean went for a shirt and sweatpants. Castiel noted that laundry would need to be done soon. 

They crawled beneath the covers of Castiel's bed, and Castiel remained on his side. He didn't want to force Dean to him. He needn't have worried. Dean sidled closer and Castiel carefully wrapped his arms around him. He sighed as he felt the tension of the day leaves him at Dean’s closeness. Dean was soon asleep and snoring lightly. Castiel remained awake, taking in the scent of his deodorant on Dean’s skin. 

“My broken already loves yours,” he whispered to Dean’s sleeping ear. He knew Dean wouldn't hear, but it wasn't something he could say to Dean awake yet. The potential for rejection was just too much. However long Dean decided to stay here was all that Castiel was. To lose him would be to lose himself. Castiel wouldn't...couldn't ruin this like he always did. Saying too much too quickly was his specialty, but not this time. This time would be different because Castiel needed Dean more that he needed to breathe. With that thought, Castiel pressed an unfelt kiss to Dean's forehead and breathed him in until he fell asleep. 

  



	27. Chapter 27

_“Dean,” that was all that he knew in that moment. He was Dean. He was being talked to. But who was talking to him. “Dean!”_

_Dean looked up to see his father running toward him, a bundle of blankets in his arms. Sam, he was holding Sam. That is how they carried his baby brother around. He knew this. This was his father and Sam and he … he was Dean._

_“Take your brother,” his father laid Sam, his baby brother, into his arms. “Run, Dean. Run outside and stay there. Please, save Sam.”_

_______

_“Please,” Dean gripped Sam’s hand in his own, hoping Sam could feel him there with him. “You have to save him. Please, save Sam.”_

_“We are doing everything we can,” the Doctor looked from Sam to the clipboard in his hands, avoiding as much eye contact as possible with Dean. “There is a lot of bleeding in his brain though, so we need you to be prepared.”_

_“Prepared for what?” Dean spat toward the Doctor. How could he be saying these things? Had they already given up on Sam?_

_“Your brother is in a coma, Mr. Winchester,” the Doctor started, about to go over all the information that Dean already knew._

_“Dean,” he corrected the Doctor. “Mr. Winchester was my father.”_

_“Dean,” the Doctor brought his eyes up to meet with Dean’s and Dean could see it all. There was no hope in them. He did not believe for one second that Sam was going to make it through this._

_“No,” Dean gripped Sam’s hand tighter, leaning down to whisper in his brother’s ear. Tears were already falling from his eyes. He hated that. He did not cry. Crying made you weak. He was not weak. “You have to wake up. Wake up!”_

_Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!_

_______

“Dean,” there was a moment of heaviness in his chest and then everything came rushing back to him. He was not in the hospital, he was in Castiel’s bed. “Dean, wake up.”

           Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he looked over to see Castiel, a nervous look on his face. Dean felt the panic set in and then there were tears. Memories had flooded his mind. He had been to war. He had seen more people die than any man should ever see and yet these … these were the memories that haunted him. He was not responsible for the soldiers that died during war. They knew what they were getting into, they knew the risks … but Sam; Sam was his responsibility. He had failed Sam.

           “I’m,” Dean tried to talk but he didn’t even know what to say.

           “You were having a nightmare,” Castiel talked for him, calm returning to his face. “I was not sure if I should wake you. They say not to wake people when they are sleeping, that it could be dangerous, but you looked to be in so much pain. I’m sorry.”

           “No,” Dean reached over and pulled Castiel toward him. Castiel was hesitant at first and Dean quickly told himself not to be offended. Castiel had been through a lot, more than any person should ever have to go through. Affection from Dean was not going to come easy. It was going to be just as hard as it was for Dean to give, but he was still going to make the effort. “Thank you for waking me up.”

           “Can I …” Castiel spoke softly, laying his head against Dean’s chest and cuddling into his side. “Can I ask what you were dreaming about?”

           “Uh,” Dean brought his hand to his face and wiped at his eyes. Tears had not fallen, but he could feel where they had begun to build. “I was dreaming about Sam. The two times I almost lost him.”

           “Two?” Castiel lifted his head and brought his eyes up to Dean’s, pure concern and interest. Castiel was not just asking for Dean’s sake, he truly wanted to know whatever it was that Dean could tell him. Another thing that Dean was not used to. How was this not a dream? Part of him still felt that he was going to wake up in a ditch somewhere in Afghanistan, Castiel being nothing more than that dream he feared he was.

           “When I was four,” Dean cleared his throat, beginning his story. “Our house caught on fire. There was faulty wiring in Sam’s nursery. My dad went in and got Sam before the ceiling collapsed on him. He brought him to me, screaming for me to take him outside and save him. I ran so fast. All I could think about was saving Sam.”

           “But you did save him,” Castiel knew that Sam had survived the fire. It was his mother who had perished.

           “Yeah,” Dean nodded but a frown quickly overtook his face. “That time I saved him.”

           “The car accident was not your fault,” Castiel reminded Dean, just as many others had tried to remind him in the past.

           “It was my job to protect him,” Dean continued, ignoring Castiel’s words. “I was supposed to save Sam.”

           “And you did,” Castiel ran his fingers over Dean’s chest, over his shirt. Dean closed his eyes, his body craving the touch. “You saved him every time you could. You have to stop blaming yourself for his death.”

           “Everything I love dies,” Dean opened his eyes and found Castiel’s once again. “Everything.”

           “Hmm,” Castiel seemed to take some time to think about this. It was a truth and it was a scary truth. Every person that Dean had ever truly loved, had died, and he had not been able to save them. “Perhaps you're worth dying for.”

           “That’s shit and you know it,” Dean was starting to become angry with how easily Castiel accepted all of this crap. Dean was a disease. He was going to cause this black hole in Castiel’s life and suck him into it. No person should want that. Nothing was worth ruining your entire life.

           “I know no such thing,” Castiel pulled away from Dean and sat himself up on the edge of the bed. “I get it. You have been through hell, literally. You have lost a lot of people in your life and you have been hurt. But you are not a lost cause. You are worth something and whether you believe that or not, is your problem. But you will not tell me what I know and what I don't know. Do you understand me?”

           Dean was in shock at his words. They were harsh but they were true. It was not up to Dean to decide how Castiel felt. It was Castiel’s life. Dean had made the decision to let himself love Castiel, even if he did not say it specifically out loud. That was his choice. Even if Castiel told him to leave today, he would still love him, because that was his choice. He had to be willing to let Castiel choose what he wanted to believe, even if Dean felt that his belief in him was wrong and unwarranted.

           “Do you understand me?” Castiel asked again, a little more passion and authority in his voice.

           “Yes,” Dean nodded as he pulled himself up in the bed. He made his way over to Castiel’s side, or what had become his side, and sat next to him. “I understand.”

           “Good,” Castiel nodded, but his voice was cracked and weak. He knew just as well as Dean that Dean would not understand what Castiel saw in him, but he saw it, that Dean believed. This man saw something in him that he could not see in himself. Maybe that’s why Dean loved him. He could see what Dean couldn’t and that made him complete … made him a person.

           “Do you have stuff to make pancakes?” Dean asked.

           “Uh,” Castiel seemed thrown by the question, but did not bring them back to where they were. “I'm not sure. Why?”

           “I make amazing pancakes,” Dean smiled over at him before leaning in and capturing Castiel’s lips with his own.

           “Yeah?” Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean, eye’s widening in shock when Dean leaned in and kissed him again.

           This time the kiss was not soft. It was hard and their teeth clacked but it was full of something emotional. It was all that Dean had. He sucked at words, though he had been doing better with them lately, maybe he had a good teacher. But still, he was better with actions than he was words and kissing was a good action, he liked kissing. More than that, he liked kissing Castiel.

           “So,” Dean finally pulled away, lips red and swollen. “Pancakes?”


	28. Chapter 28

“So. Pancakes?” Dean was smiling. Or, Castiel thought he was smiling. He sounded like he was smiling. Castiel couldn't really see him. It was no earlier than one in the morning. Lights from the city around them slid into the room through the imperfect curtains. The darkness in the room was broken, and through those shards of fragmentary light Castiel got an image of Dean in pieces. An eye of jade. An illumination of his cheekbone. A lock of hair, blinding in the headlights of a passing car. Dean’s true countenance and form were hazy, half-hallucinated. The fickle lights came and went, giving Castiel an imperfect sight. He felt drunk, and unable to see straight.

And that kiss did _not_ help. God, Castiel could still feel the pressure of Dean’s lips. The wet slide of their tongues laving at each other, a dull aching pain as their teeth unexpectedly met. Emotion, raw and uncontainable as can only be shared through a kiss. Unspoken words on Dean’s breath turned into his taste on Castiel’s tongue. It was a singularly unkind kiss, but one so filled with love it burst into sweet, sweet violence, and it was all the better for it. Anything else would have been a lie, and therefore unbearable. 

Pancakes? Castiel’s sleepy, love-drunk brain struggled to keep up. Castiel had woken Dean from what seemed to be a terrible nightmare, then that kiss and now pancakes? Nightmare pancakes. Castiel almost giggled aloud as his slap happy brain threw forth a name. Nightmare pancakes. How wonderful. 

“I'm not sure what you need,” Castiel told Dean, “but if I have it, feel free to use it.”

“Come on,” Dean's voice was honey and whiskey. He took Castiel’s hand and lead him into the tiny kitchenette. Castiel barely had time to grab his glasses off the bedside table before Dean dragged him away. Once in the tiny kitchen, Castiel turned on a light while Dean rummaged through the tiny fridge and cupboards until he found what he needed. He began to mix the ingredients together in a bowl while Castiel put a kettle on. Castiel, who was a terrible cook, was content to grease the pan Dean planned to cook the pancakes in. Dean had Castiel mix the ingredients as he measured a helping of sugar that he dumped into what was becoming a whitish slop. 

“That's the secret,” Dean explained. He pressed his lips to Castiel's neck and Castiel shuddered. “Extra sugar.” Dean removed the bowl from Castiel's hands just as the kettle began to whistle. Castiel quickly removed it before it got too loud and got two mugs to pour the boiling water in. He put his last two tea bags in the mugs and swiftly spooned some honey into his. 

“Do you take honey in your tea?” Castiel paused before Dean’s mug, spoon in hand. Dean didn't look at Castiel, but his face turned almost sheepish. 

“I'm not really a tea drinker,” he replied. Castiel spooned honey into his tea.

“Well, let me see if I can change that,” Castiel shot back. He stirred both mugs carefully then lifted Dean’s to his lips.

“Taste it.” Dean took an obligatory sip. He swallowed. Castiel set the mug down on the counter. 

“Not bad,” Dean said as he ladled the pancake batter into the pan to fry. “Is that peach?” Dean finished with the first batch and took up a spatula, patiently waiting to flip them. Castiel sidled up behind Dean. His spine curved into Castiel’s front and wrapped his arms gently around Dean’s middle. His chin rested on Dean’s shoulder.

“Peach is my favorite,” he murmured in reply. Dean pressed a hand over the arms around his stomach. 

“Don't ever let me go,” he told Castiel as he leaned back into Castiel's hold. Somehow, Castiel knew what Dean was asking was far larger than his embrace. 

“I won't,” Castiel promised, “not until you want me to.” Dean flipped the pancakes and reached for a plate to put them on. After the first batch was done and plated, Dean put the rest of the batter in the pan.

“Sam used to love pancakes,” Dean commented. Castiel kissed his neck. Dean laid his cheek on top of Castiel’s head.

“I can't tell you if there's life after death,” Castiel said softly. He gently rocked from side to side, bringing Dean along with him. “But if there is, and there's a place for the good, I have no doubt Sam is there. And I feel certain that he is watching over you and sending you his love.”

“Cas, you never even knew him,” Dean shook his head. 

“True. But I know that if I grew up with you, I'd care deeply about you.” Castiel couldn't bring himself to say love yet. True as it may be, rejection was too sharp a potential. Dean turned in Castiel's arms and pecked him on the lips. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice saccharine. He gently extracted himself from Castiel's arms to stack the rest of the pancakes on the plate. “Come in, Cas, we gotta eat these before they get cold. Have you got any syrup?”

“No,” Castiel shook his head, “I have some honey.” Dean shrugged.

“I guess that works.” He carried the plate of pancakes to the sofa and Castiel grabbed his honey jar and they sat side by side. Dean tore off a piece of pancake and dipped it into the honey jar. Normally, this was something Castiel would scold someone for, but he was tired and it was nearing two in the morning and Dean just looked so handsome in his pajamas. Castiel couldn't care less about his honey jar. Dean brought the piece of pancake to Castiel's lips, and Castiel gently ate it from Dean’s fingers. There was something luxurious about Dean hand feeding him.

“Delicious,” Castiel told Dean. He scooted closer and tucked himself against Dean’s side. Dean gave a happy sounding sigh.

“Good.” Castiel returned Dean’s favor and fed him a honey soaked bite of pancake. They continued on like this, each feeding the other, while gentle hands strayed over faces and chests in a sharp contrast of the kiss that started the moment in the first place. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked as he fed Castiel the last bite of pancake.

“Mmm?” Castiel replied. He felt full and warm, even more so because he was sitting beside Dean. 

“Do you have work tomorrow?”

“Today,” Castiel corrected warmly,

“Why?”

“Can I come with again?”

“Of course. Are you sure you wouldn't rather be home though? The people seem to make you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, they do.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, “But you like it there. And I don't know, my happiness doesn't really mean much if you aren't there.

“If you want to come, I won't deny you that. Ever. I like having you with me too much,” Castiel said, “but if it's too much, don't feel obligated.”

“I'm not, I just…” Dean shook his head helplessly. In lieu of an answer, he kissed Castiel again. This time, it was warm. Warm like the sun and it tasted of pancakes and honey. This is what happy tastes like, Castiel thought. _This_ _is_ _home_.


	29. Chapter 29

Time moved slowly for a while but soon, it was catching up with force. Dean had been injured badly, and though he was healing, he was considered disabled. They were going to pay him a certain amount of money to survive, which was not that much. Still, it was something and he could live off it, he had lived off much less in the past. But that is not what he wanted for himself. He did not want to sit around all day, drinking and trying to guess the right answer to game shows. He didn’t want to be that man and he knew that if he did not do something soon, he was going to become that man.

For the rest of the semester, Dean attended classes with Castiel, helped him grade papers and made himself more at home in Castiel’s house. Castiel told him many times that Dean could call it his home as well, but he didn’t feel there quite yet. He needed to help before he could feel like he was anything more than a guest, wearing out his welcome.

“Dean!” Dean snapped his head up at the sound. It had been a long time since anyone had sounded that excited to see him and annoyed at the same time. He really missed that sound.

“Bobby,” Dean stood up from his chair in the waiting room and made his way over to his Uncle Bobby. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, boy,” Bobby was all smiles as he pulled Dean into a bone crushing hug. Dean tensed up but made no effort to pull away from the man. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, Bobby,” they finally broke away from each other and Bobby motioned for Dean to follow him back into the shop. “It’s been quite the transition.”

“I figured it was something like that,” Bobby nodded but did not make eye contact, a small smile forming across his face.

“What?” Dean questioned immediately.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bobby lied, opening the door to his office and quickly moving to sit at his desk. It was piled high with papers. He never really was the man who could get used to being organized. Dean was the same way. Bobby must be where he got it from.

“I feel like I am missing something,” Dean quirked his eyebrow at his uncle, before sitting down in the chair on the opposite side of Bobby. His eyes wandered across the room. He had spent many hours in this office, pretending to do homework and peeking out through the window to watch Bobby and his father work on cars. It brought back happy memories, which confused Dean. He had forgotten when good memories of his past felt like. “Am I missing something?”

“Ellen seems to think you have a special someone in your life,” Bobby was not normally one for gossip but he had always taken a special interest into Dean and Sam’s lives, at least, when Sam was still alive, Bobby had been interested in how he was doing.

“Oh,” Dean looked from Bobby to his feet. He was not really ready for that part of his life to be discussed. He was … well, he was not really sure what he was with Cas. Even though it had been a few months, things were still up in the air. Somedays, it felt like they were a couple, cooking meals together and watching television before bed. Other days, Dean could feel himself pulling away, ready to run at any moment. But they were figuring it out. One day at a time.

“But that’s not why you are here,” Bobby changed the subject and Dean looked up at him again, this time sporting a grateful smile. He would talk to Bobby about it someday, but today was not that day. “Why are you here? And before you answer that … Can you start Monday?”

“You mean it Bobby?” Dean could not hide his excitement. He knew that Bobby would give him a job if he asked, but he figured Bobby would at least make him ask.

“Of course,” Bobby brushed off Dean’s reaction like it was uncalled for. “Have to grab you up before the competition does.”

“What competition?” Dean huffed a laugh.

“You are a damn good mechanic, boy,” Bobby pointed his finger at Dean, making sure that his words were going to be heard. Dean had heard them many times before, that did not mean he was going to accept them this time. He had never accepted them in the past.

“Um,” Dean began to argue but Bobby raised his eyebrow in victory. There was no way that Dean was going to win whatever argument he was about to start. “Monday sounds great. Still start at seven?”

“On the dot,” Bobby nodded. “And I will start you on full salary.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean shook his head. “I don't mind starting at the entry pay.”

“Bullshit.” Bobby lightly slammed his hands down on the table. “I take care of my own. You would be best to remember that too.”

“I will,” Dean smiled.

“Oh,” Bobby put a serious tone into his voice and Dean reactively sat up straight. “There is one condition to all of this.”

“I was waiting for that,” Dean prepared himself for the worst. “Whatever it is, I will do it.”

“Go visit your aunt Ellen,” Bobby let the serious melt into concern. “She was worried about you over there and I am sure she would love to see you. She said you only came in once and that is not enough. So, weekly visits to Ellen are required.”

“I can do that,” Dean smiled. “Is that it?”

“Cut your hair,” Bobby joked, “It looks unruly.”

“Deal.”

_____

“Where are we going?” Castiel finally spoke and Dean could not help but laugh.

“Dinner,” Dean answered truthfully, but didn’t give anything more than that.

“We haven’t gone out to eat in a while,” Castiel reminded Dean. They had both decided that it was more cost efficient at the given time to prepare their meals at home. They did buy pie from the diner down the road often though, that was worth the money. Best apple pie since his mother’s.

Dean looked over at Castiel and couldn’t help but get tingly when he saw the smile stretch over his face, his eyes finally spotting the roadhouse. They had not yet been to the roadhouse together. Dean knew that Castiel had gone in a few times when he was overseas and Dean had stopped in once since being home, but this would be a first for them. Dean never brought anyone to the roadhouse. It was his home. He was bringing someone home. This feeling should have been enough to cause him to turn around, but he didn’t. He worked his way through the parking lot, found a place to park and killed the engine.

“I was feeling in the mood for burgers,” Dean smiled over at Cas, knowing that both the burgers and the roadhouse would make him happy.

“I do love a good burger,” Castiel finally brought his eyes to Dean, a shimmer of something Dean had never seen before breaking through. Dean pushed the feeling that was rumbling in his gut down and climbed out of the car. He went to let Cas out but Cas beat him to it and let himself out; maybe that was for the best.

“Well,” Dean motioned for them to head inside. “You aren’t going to find a better burger than Ellen’s burgers.”

“I know,” Castiel smiled again. “I remember them fondly.”

Dean led the way and soon they were standing in the entry part of the bar. It was a Friday, so it was decently packed with people. Dean was not so sure this was a good idea but it was too late to turn back now. He was not going to ruin that smile on Castiel’s face.

“Have a seat wherever you like,” A redhead that Dean had never met before spoke from behind the bar.

Dean looked around until he spotted an empty booth in the corner. He was not trying to hide them, it was the only spot, but he couldn’t help but appreciate that it was facing away from the majority of the people.

“What can I get for you both?” The redhead asked chipperly, as she placed menus down in front of both of them.

“Two shots of whiskey with coke for a chaser,” Dean winked over at Castiel who seemed slightly nervous about the order but did not work to change it. “Also, if Ellen is available, can you tell her that Dean is here to see her?”

“You got it,” She nodded at the both of them and then disappeared.

“So,” Dean turned his attention back to Castiel while they waited. “How was your day?”

“It was surprisingly peaceful,” Castiel worked to remove his jacket and set it off to his side. “Normally, planning for the upcoming term is stressful. But things just seemed to fall into place today.”

“I can agree with that statement,” Dean smiled. “Speaking of things falling into place … I got a job today.”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel reached out across the table and took Dean’s hand into his but quickly let it go once he noticed what he had done. Castiel was good about letting Dean move at his own pace. Not being open in public was something that was important for Dean. “That is wonderful news. Where is it?”

“My uncle Bobby’s shop,” Dean smiled, he was actually excited to be working along side his uncle. “I start on Monday.”

“We should celebrate,” Castiel said immediately.

“Well,” Dean looked around the bar. “We kind of are.”

They were silent for a while, both letting all of the information sink in. Normally, Dean hated silence, but with Castiel, it was welcome and calming. Cas had a way of making him feel at peace, even without the use of words. That was strange, considering that Cas was a man of a million words. Dean was sure that if Cas could talk about poetry all day long, he would. And honestly, Dean would not have even the smallest desire to stop him. Cas and poetry were becoming his two favorite things in the world.

“Well if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” Ellen appeared at their table, a smile spreading almost from ear to ear. “Same goes for you Castiel.”

“It is nice to see you again as well, Ellen.” Castiel responded.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ellen asked, moving her hands to her hips. “I mean, I knew you couldn’t stay away from me for long, but I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Well,” Dean gave Ellen a smug look. “I got a job today.”

“That is wonderful,” Ellen all but squealed. “What might that job be?”

“You are looking at Singer Mechanic,” Dean leaned back so she could get a good look at him.

“That man,” Ellen shook her head. “I oughta beat him for keeping this news from me.”

“I told him I wanted to come and tell you myself,” Dean smiled.

“Here are your shots,” the red head returned to the table and placed a shot and can of coke in front of both of them. “Are you ready to order?”

“I got them Charlie,” Ellen waved her away.

“Okie dokie,” Charlie smiled.

“I like her,” Dean watched Charlie walk away. “She says okie dokie.”

“Shots?” Ellen quickly changed the subject.

“Yeah,” Dean reached out and lifted his shot to his lips, Castiel was a little more hesitant. Dean threw it back quickly and then took a drink of his coke. “Figured I got a new job, may as well take my boyfriend out to celebrate.”

Castiel, who had brought the shot up this lips but had yet to shoot it, sputtered and whiskey went all over the table. Dean could not fight back the laugh that came and he didn’t want to. He had not been this happy in a really long time.

“Well good for you,” Ellen placed her hand on Castiel’s shoulder, helping keep him stable while he regained himself. “Two burgers with everything and extra fries?”

“And one beer and one tea,” Dean smiled over at Castiel. “Also, maybe a washcloth.”

** “Coming right up.”   
**


	30. Chapter 30

Castiel choked. Boyfriend? _Boyfriend_? What the fuck? They hadn't discussed this. They weren't even a couple. Were they? _Were they_? Sure, they kissed and snuggled, and slept in the same bed. And, of course, there was that one time when they did that one thing that Castiel had secretly been cherishing. But boyfriends? If they were boyfriends that meant that there was something definite between them. And if there was something definite between them, that meant Castiel, with his stupid fumbling ways, could screw this whole thing to hell. What. The. _Fuck_?

Castiel spat whiskey over himself and the table. Ellen stabilized him with a hand as he coughed and tried to remove the whiskey that had inadvertently ended up in his lungs. Dean tossed his head back and laughed. It was Dean's laugh, rich and warm, that grounded him. Genuine mirth rolled off Dean in waves that broke against Castiel, easing his thoughts. Dean gave Ellen their order and she left them alone. 

“Boyfriend?” Castiel asked Dean. He couldn't contain the question, because if Dean was his boyfriend then Castiel had to send whatever deity was listening a hefty thank you prayer. 

“I mean, we're basically a couple, right?” Dean asked with bravado. He sat up straight and his body oozed confidence, but eyes gave away the truth. He was testing the waters, seeing how Castiel would react. Nervousness was alight in the beautiful green. If Castiel fucked it up now, there would be no going back. He reached out his legs to tangle them with Dean’s beneath the table. 

“I guess we are,” he offered Dean his gentlest smile. Dean’s face split into a wide grin. Just then, Ellen came back with Dean’s beer, Castiel's tea and both of their burgers. She leaned down to whisper in Castiel’s ear, 

“You had better take good care of him, Castiel Novak. And make sure he takes care of you.”

“I will,” Castiel murmured. Ellen kissed his cheek and straightened herself to ruffle Dean’s hair.

“You two enjoy your dinner,” Ellen said with smile that both Dean and Castiel returned. Castiel dug into his burger with gusto. He had to forgo lunch to grade some essays. 

"What did Ellen say, just then?” Dean asked. He was picking at his food. It worried Castiel that he wasn't diving in with his normal wolf-like voracity. 

"She approves of us,” Castiel said simply. Dean took a gulp of his beer and tension drained from him. His smile reappeared, like sunlight peeking through a sheet of clouds. Castiel couldn't help the smile he gave in return. He was just so, so in love. More than ever, Castiel wished they were back at the apartment so he could kiss Dean freely without having to worry about prying eyes. He took a sip of his tea. Yes, he'd have to kiss Dean later, when there was no one to see it but Annabel. 

They ate in relative silence. The Roadhouse was loud and not really conducive to conversation, not to mention that Dean was a man of few words when they were out. He always seemed to worry that his perceived stupidity would annoy Castiel, and Castiel hadn't been able to shake him of the thought. Castiel was able to get out of Dean that his uncle Bobby was aware of their relationship to some extent. The thought seemed to bother Dean, but a brush from Castiel’s errant hand had him grinning again, all roguish confidence. 

They finished their dinner quickly, as both were uncomfortable by the crowd in the Roadhouse. Castiel drank half of Dean’s beer while Dean growled playful threats. In retaliation, he gulped down Castiel's tea, then he proudly paid for dinner. Castiel made sure to leave Ellen a hefty tip and together he and Dean left the restaurant. Once they reached the car, Dean opened the passenger side door for Castiel before getting into the driver’s seat. 

“Aren't you a little too drunk to drive?” Castiel teased. Dean rolled his eyes

"Please. As if half a beer and one shot of whiskey would even get me buzzed. How about you? You drunk?” Dean fired back without malice. Castiel scoffed.

“Hardly. It was only half a beer.”

“And you inhaled some whiskey,” Dean laughed as they sped off toward the apartment, “don't forget the whiskey,”

“Ass,” Castiel grumbled good naturedly. True to his word, Dean was as safe a driver as ever and they reached the apartment complex without incident. They entered the apartment and climbed the stairs still mock bickering. Castiel fumbled for the keys and once they reached their apartment, Castiel was able to unlock the door without a snarky comment from Dean. The moment they walked inside they were charged by Annabel who purred like a motor and wrapped herself around Castiel's legs. He scooped her up and gave her a long scratch.

“Hello, darling,” he cooed. Dean scratched her between her ears with one finger.

“Hey, cat.”

Annabel meowed loudly. Castiel took the hint and removed his shoes and overcoat to get her dinner. When he had finished, Dean was nowhere to be found. 

“Dean?” He called. 

“Bedroom,” Dean replied. Castiel found him sitting on the bed dressed in sweats and a borrowed tee shirt of Castiel’s that was a little too small in all the right places. Castiel sat beside him.

“I'm happy for you,” he told Dean, “I'm sure it must feel good to have a job.”

"Yeah,” Dean agreed, “it kinda does. But,” he bit his lip, “could I still maybe come to school with you sometimes. When I have days off and stuff.”

“I've told you before, I'll never object to having you there with me.” Castiel pressed a gentle kiss to the very corner of Dean’s mouth. Dean turned to face him and responded with a happy feeling kiss, warm and chaste. It didn't last long; the chasteness. Dean quickly licked into Castiel’s mouth, but the happiness remained. Castiel moved away from Dean's mouth to leave wet kisses on his neck. Dean groaned and tossed his head to the side. Castiel nipped Dean gently, careful not to leave a mark. Dean took Castiel’s hand and brought it between his legs to pressed against the erection straining in his sweats. Castiel paused his ministrations. Dean’s eyes were filled with fear. Castiel brought Dean’s other hand down to his own bulge. They sat there for a moment, just feeling each other.

“Dean,” Castiel’s murmur finally broke the silence, “do you know for sure that you're clean?” Dean nodded.

“They tested me regularly in the army.”

“I have gotten myself tested after every relationship and the most recent person I have been sexual with had been you. I'm clean as well,” Castiel said gently, “so please, let me have you.”

“Uh, what?” Dean looked a little panicked. Castiel cupped his cheek. 

“Let me have you. Or you could have me. Or nothing at all, if you prefer.”

"Let you have me. Like, you want to have sex with me? Like, fuck me?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded. 

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Dean gave a slow breath, “okay, just go slow.”

"I will,” Castiel promised. He reached for a bottle of vaseline he kept in the drawer of his nightstand. 

"Okay, so I guess we strip?” Dean asked with a nervous smile. He quickly removed his shirt. 

"That helps,” Castiel joked easily. He took off his shirt as well. Dean took his pants and underwear off, quickly followed by Castiel. Their lengths bobbed free. 

“Now what?” Dean asked. 

“I'm going to stretch you with my fingers to relax your muscles so taking my penis won't hurt you,” Castiel explained. Dean rolled his eyes in an attempt to hide his glaringly obvious anxiety. 

“Do you need to sound like you're giving me a medical exam?” He snarked. Castiel just leaned in for a kiss. Dean melted against him, worry seemingly quelled for the moment. Castiel opened the bottle of vaseline and scooped a generous amount onto his fingers. He gave Dean’s length a few strokes and moved back to roll his balls gently. Dean gave a sigh of pleasure and relaxed further. He fell onto his back to give Castiel better access. 

Carefully Castiel circled a slick finger around Dean hole. He rubbed Dean’s belly to get him to relax further before pressing it inside. Dean whimpered and a blurt of precome dripped onto his stomach.

“Are you okay?” Castiel whispered. Dean nodded. His eyes were wide. Castiel added another finger and leaned over Dean to kiss him. He began to scissor his fingers until he could add a third. Dean clearly enjoyed Castiel's careful touches, but anxiety rolled off him in waves. When Castiel deemed Dean prepared, he leaned back against the headboard. He slicked himself with vaseline. Dean watched curiously. 

“Here, straddle my waist and guide me into you,” Castiel requested. Dean hesitantly did as asked and straddled Castiel's midriff. He reached behind him and grasped Castiel’s length and brought it to his hole. He attempted to force it in and his body tensed right up.

“Cas,” he breathed desperately, “it won't go in, I can't…”

“Shh, it's okay,” Castiel gentled. He rubbed a slow, placating hand over Dean's hips. “I'll distract you and it'll become easier.” Castiel cleared his throat. “Under the harvest moon, when the soft silver drips shimmering over garden nights, Death, the grey mocker, comes and whispers to you, a beautiful friend who remembers.” Dean listened intently and inadvertently relaxed, allowing Castiel to breech him. Dean sank down onto him and they were still for a moment before Dean panicked. 

“Cas, you, you're…” Dean's eyes were huge and his tone begged Castiel for comfort. 

“Lay down on your front, Dean,” Castiel implored. Dean did, easing down until he was chest to chest with Castiel. He buried his face in Castiel's neck. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's back. Castiel’s length was still mostly inside Dean. He gave a gentle roll of his hips and Dean gave a muffled keen. Encouraged, he started an easy rhythm, all the while hyper aware of Dean’s erection trapped between their bodies. 

“Under the summer roses,” Castiel continued on with the poem. Dean sighed happily. “When the flagrant crimson lurks in the dusk of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands comes and touches you with a thousand memories, and asks you beautiful, unanswerable questions.”   
Castiel worked the pace up a little. Dean was kissing his neck. The room was silent except for their breaths and the breathy little moans that wrung from their throats. 

“Cas, I'm gonna come,” Dean whispered before moaning brokenly and coming between them. As he did, he tightened slightly, bringing Castiel over the edge with a soft cry of _Dean_. Dean turned his head and kissed Castiel lazily. Castiel returned in kind and as he softened, he slipped out of Dean. He knew he ought to get a towel and clean them up, but it was so nice to have Dean kissing him, and having his warm body atop Castiel's and it was even nice that there was release cooling on his hips. This was perfect. Castiel tightened his arms around Dean, because a moment so perfect had to be a dream and if this was a dream Castiel would die. 

Castiel was orgasm-drunk and love-drunk. He wanted to write soliloquies about Dean. He wanted to write odes to his beauty and his souls. He wanted Dean to know he loved him. But that would fuck things up. Right? Right. Dean couldn't know because a god like him didn't want love from a worm like Castiel. But if they were boyfriends...hmm. Maybe. Maybe. Dean was drowsing. He let his head slump to Castiel's chest. 

“Night, Cas,” Dean mumbled.

“Dean?” Castiel asked worriedly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Castiel's voice was hardly above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Quieter this time.

“Of course.”

“I think I've fallen for you.”

Silence. Oh, _fuck_.  
  



	31. 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some homophobic language and behavior.

Dean had been thinking about sex with Castiel for quite a while. He was a man and well … of course he had thought about sex. It terrified him. Not because he was scared of having sex with Castiel, but because he was scared of having sex with a man. It was another world completely, one that Castiel had been part of and Dean, well, he had never even considered it until he met Castiel. But now, here they were and he did not even hesitate. Sure, he was nervous and that came through like bricks but he did not fight it at all. He wanted this. He wanted Castiel.

Okay, so it was nothing like he expected. It was awkward, it hurt and it was crazy. The emotions that rushed through his body sent him flying over the edge, long before he normally would have. Whether it was the excitement of something new, the nerves of having sex with a man or because he was in … whatever it was, it was amazing.

Once they were finished, Dean took advantage of his position. He laid himself on top of Castiel and kissed him lazily. He knew that they needed to get cleaned up but he could not pull away. All he wanted was to be wrapped in Castiel’s arms. He needed to be in this moment. It was the only thing in the world that was real. It was messy but it was real.

“Dean?” Dean lifted his head to look at Castiel, though his eyes were still heavy with the desire to fall asleep in this blissful moment.

“Yeah,” he sleepily replied.

“Can I tell you a secret?” If Dean had not been listening intently, he would have missed the words completely.

“Yeah,”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Dean spoke, though he was suddenly unsure. Castiel seemed nervous about whatever he was about to tell Dean. Dean wanted Cas to be able to tell him anything but Dean knew the bliss from what just took place was about to fade away.

“I think I’ve fallen for you,” the words came out like glass. Dean knew they were there. He knew these feelings were going to come to the surface sooner or later but he was hoping for later. He was not ready.

Dean searched for words. He needed to say something. He had to say something. Castiel deserved words but Dean … he had nothing. Panic was setting in and all he could hear was a ringing in his ears. It was so loud that Dean felt like he was going to throw up. And before he knew it, Dean was in the bathroom, door shut behind him, leaning against it to stop the world outside from crashing inside.  _ Fuck. _

“Get yourself together,” Dean growled to himself, pulling away from the door and looking in the mirror.

He was completely spent. His body was naked and come was drying against his stomach. He went from feeling incredible to just feeling incredibly dirty. What was wrong with him? He made eye contact with himself in the mirror and yelled within himself.  _ What the fuck is wrong with you? _

“Fuck,” he breathed out before turning around and starting the shower.

He let it warm up before stepping in. The water was hotter than it needed to be but he welcomed it. It was exactly what he needed and he tried to relax into it.

_ I didn’t raise no faggot.  _ His father’s voice echoed through his mind. Dean knew that if his father was alive right now and found out what he had been doing, he would beat his ass. This was not how the son of John Winchester was supposed to turn out. He was not supposed to be some faggot. He was solider. He was man.

“A man,” Dean laughed out loud. The last person he should be listening to about being a man, was his father. His father was a drunk who beat his kids and couldn’t walk a day through life sober. He treated the world around him like shit. If that was what a man was, that wasn't what Dean wanted to be.

_ What do you want? _ Another voice entered his head and he had to fight back tears. This voice had always been his saving grace. Sam.  _ What do you want Dean? _

__ __ “I want Castiel,” Dean said with so much sureness, it almost scared him.

_ Then what are you waiting for? _

Dean quickly got himself cleaned up and dried off. He didn’t even bother searching for a  clean pair of clothes as he made his way back into the room he was sharing with Castiel. He was not sure what he was going to say, but he had to say something.

“Cas?” Dean spoke into the dark but got no reply.

Dean, not wanting to wake Cas, slowly crawled into bed. He would figure this out tomorrow. He had messed up, he knew that, but he was going to make this better. He had to make this better.

_____

Dean had tossed and turned all night. His mind was racing with the situation. It was not like it was new. He knew how he felt about Castiel and he knew how Castiel felt about him. It was just the fact that it was all out in the open that was bothering him. If they were expressing to each other how they felt, then this was all real. If this was real, then Dean was definitely going to mess it up. If this was real, Dean could lose Castiel. Dean had lost his entire family and most of himself, he couldn’t lose Castiel. That would be the end of him.

When morning finally broke through, Dean woke up to an empty bed. His heart sank knowing that Castiel was probably losing his mind. He had pretty much expressed the scariest thing he could to Dean, and Dean had run away. Dean had promised himself he was done running away but apparently, old habits die hard. At least he didn't run from the house and was still here; that was something, wasn’t it?

Deciding that lying in bed all day was not how he wanted to spend his Saturday, Dean finally made his way to the bathroom to get himself woke up. He was going to need more than a good piss to pull him out of this exhaustion. Going to bed early was hopefully in his future; if he got to continue to go to bed here. With how he handled things last night, that was something that could be ending.

Dean took his time in the bathroom, cleaning himself up, pulling himself together; occasionally, he would splash his face with cold water. He did everything he could in order to keep his feet on the ground. He was not going to run. He was going to stay and he was going to take whatever was coming his direction. If he walked out of this bathroom and Cas asked him to leave, he will leave. He hoped Cas didn't ask him to leave.

When the nerve struck him, Dean took a deep breath and made his way toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee had been the first thing to hit him, its aroma filling the air. But soon, the smell of fresh, vibrant coffee turned into acid in his mouth. His eyes found Castiel, sitting at the small dining room table, sunken in on himself, nursing a cup of tea. Tea! Castiel was drinking tea but he made coffee. He made coffee for Dean. That was a good sign, right?

“Mor…” Dean began to say but stopped himself. He was not just going to make polite talk, when honestly, he had no idea what he was going to say to Cas. How could he even begin to apologize for what he had done.

“I have to go,” Dean moved quickly on his feet, grabbing a travel mug for his coffee. He made it just how he liked it and put on the lid, before turning around and seeing the devastated look on Castiel’s face.

Dean stopped, set his cup down and slowly made his way across the small kitchen area. He pulled Castiel’s chair so that Castiel was facing him. Castiel looked panicked and jumped slightly, sending through Dean’s body. He had scared him. He did not mean to scare him. Without saying anything, Dean dropped to his knees and laid his head in Cas’ lap.

“I'm just going for a drive,” Dean promised aloud, though, at this point, he wasn’t sure if he was making the promise to Castiel or to himself. “I will be back.”

“Promise,” Castiel finally spoke, his voice broken and deeper than normal. Dean could tell that he had been crying.

“Promise,” Dean nodded into Cas’ lap and then leaned over to kiss Cas’ hand. “I promise.”

Dean would be back. He had a plan. He was going to fix this.

_____

Dean made his way back into the apartment, but he had no intentions of staying. He just needed one thing and that one thing was sitting on the sofa, looking like he had been hit by a truck.  

“Grab a coat and get your shoes on,” Dean instructed, almost pleadingly. He was really in no position to be giving orders.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asked cautiously, bringing himself to his feet. “I haven’t shaved or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Dean stopped to look Cas over. He was a complete mess but under all of that, despite it all, he looked perfect. “You look great the way you are.”

“Yeah,” Cas rolled his eyes and toed his feet into his shoes.

“I only say what I know,” Dean laughed, trying to convince Cas, but it was not working.

Cas did not argue with him. Instead, he grabbed his coat and appeared at Dean’s side. It was now or never. He was going to do this. So, Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand in his own, gave it a reassuring squeeze. This was going to be good. This was going to work. This needed to work.

They did not talk for the entire drive, nor did they listen to music. They sat in a silence that was both awkward but good. They did not need words to be. They could just sit in the silence of each other and not have to work hard at finding words. Dean was horrible at finding words. That was the point of this entire adventure; Dean was going to show himself without using his words. Actions spoke louder than words, right?

Two hours later, they were pulling into their destination. Dean was surprised that Cas had not spoken the entire way, though Dean knew he wanted to many times. There were times when Cas would turn to Dean and his mouth would open just slightly but then he would stop and turn back to the window, gazing out at the beauty of the road.

Dean was surprised that he remembered the turn to take to get here. His father used to bring him and Sam fishing here when they were younger. He would be sober the entire weekend and him and Sam and Dean would laugh and tell horrible jokes and eat fish. It was the only good memory that Dean had of his father. He wanted to be a good dad and this the was moment he succeeded. Funny; only hours ago Dean was arguing with his father in his head and now he was bringing his boyfriend, hopefully they were still that, to the spot that reminded him most of his father.

It was a beautiful place, along with the memories. Trees surrounded it, in every direction, there were trees as far as the eye could see. Some reaching up so high, necks would have to be strained to see the tops of them. It was quiet, but so full of sounds. Birds chirping, animals running about, water running against the rocks. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. It was perfect.

“This place is beautiful, Dean.” Cas finally spoke and Dean had forgotten for just a few hours how much he lived for that voice. It was deep and gravelly and sent chills through Dean’s body.

“My father used to bring Sammy and me here when we were kids,” Dean told Cas, thinking back on the memories. “I used to brag about the fish I caught, but honestly, Sam always managed to catch one bigger than me. It was the moose in him, I’m sure.”

Both Cas and Dean laughed at his attempt at a joke and it lightened the air around them. It was still tense between the two but just the fact that he could indeed made Cas laugh was a good sign in his book.

“Come on,” Dean motioned his head towards the world outside of the car. Cas seemed nervous, but he climbed out after Dean.

Dean made his way toward the front of the car and leaned against the hood. He motioned for Cas to do the same. Once Cas was settled, some mere inches from Dean’s body. Dean moved away from the car. Fear jumped into Cas’ eyes but Dean raised his hand up to try and ease whatever emotion he was feeling.

“You are so good with words,” Dean began to speak, not really sure where they were coming from. Cas began to argue but Dean held out his hand again to stop him. “You are good with words. You speak them beautifully and understand how poetic they can be. Because of you, I understand poetry a little more. I still don’t get it most of the time but I get it more than I did. And when you told me you were falling for me, I …. I.”

Dean paused. He did not have a speech planned. He was the one that was bad with words and here he was speaking so many of them; most of which probably did not make sense at all. He was just a rambling fool. But he could do this. He had to do this.

“You?” Cas could sense his nervousness and he was grateful that they could see these moments in each other.

“I tried to think of a poem to tell you, something to tell you how I feel,” Dean continued one, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “But I don’t do poetry like you do. At least, I don’t do poetry in the spoken manner.”

Dean smiled and moved toward the driver side of the car, opening it up and leaning inside. Dean turned on the battery and pushed a tape in. He had made sure that it was at the right place. A pause, time for him to get back to Cas before the music and the words would fill the air.

“Dean?” Castiel gave him questioning eyes and all Dean could do was smile.

“This is my poem,” Dean made his way over to Cas and stepped between his legs. He put his hands on either side of Cas and leaned their foreheads together. “This is my poem for you.”

Suddenly, music began to fill the air around them.

_ It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside _

_ I'm not one of those who can easily hide, I _

_ Don't have much money but boy, if I did _

_ I'd buy a big house where we both could live _

_ If I was a sculptor but then again, no _

_ Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show _

_ Oh, I know it's not much but it's the best I can do _

_ My gift is my song _

_ And this one's for you _

Dean reaches forward and laced one hand of fingers with Cas’.

_ And you can tell everybody this is your song _

_ It may be quite simple but now that it's done _

_ I hope you don't mind _

_ I hope you don't mind _

_ That I put down in words _

_ How wonderful life is while you're in the world _

_ I sat on the roof and kicked up the moss _

_ Well, a few of the verses, well, they've got me quite cross _

_ But the sun's been quite kind _

_ While I wrote this song _

_ It's for people like you that _

_ Keep it turned on _

Dean pulled his forehead away from Castiel’s and looked him in the eyes. They were the bluest of blue, which was strange. This song, though not written by him, very well could have been. Except for the next part. Dean could never forget that blue or confuse them for green. He would never forget the blue. He could forget everything else in this world but that blue, that would be with him forever.

In those blue eyes, Dean could see the world, his worlds. He saw the ups and the downs, the struggles and the successes. He saw the laughter and the tears, the good and the bad. He saw the beginning of his life and the end of it as well. He saw everything with Cas and nothing without him. He loved this man and he prayed, to whoever may be listening, that Cas could see just how much Dean loved him. He needed him to see.

_ So, excuse me forgetting _

_ But these things, I do _

_ You see, I've forgotten _

_ If they're green or they're blue _

_ Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean _

_ Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen _

_ And you can tell everybody this is your song _

_ It may be quite simple but _

_ Now that it's done _

_ I hope you don't mind _

_ I hope you don't mind _

_ That I put down in words _

_ How wonderful life is while you're in the world _

_ I hope you don't mind _

_ I hope you don't mind _

_ That I put down in words _

_ How wonderful life is while you're in the world _

The song ended  and they just stood there, holding each other.

“We good?”  Dean finally spoke, bringing his eyes up to meet with Castiel’s once again.

“We are more than good,” Cas smiled, leaning forward and taking Dean’s lips between his own. “I love you, Dean.”

Dean smiled but the words do not leave his mouth. Again, he was stunted by his inability to say those words. He would say them someday. He just needed time to learn how they feel first.

** “I know,” Cas leaned in and softly kissed Dean once again. “I know.”   
**


	32. Chapter 32

Dean loved him. Castiel was dizzy with giddiness and warm from Dean’s body pressed to his front. He couldn't say it, but he meant it and isn't that what counted? Castiel hadn't fucked this up yet. Oh, there was plenty of time for that later, but for now, he had Dean. Castiel was half sitting on the hood of the car and Dean's arms came around him as the song ended. 

“Dean,” Castiel said after a while, just to say his name. 

“Cas,” Dean replied. “Can I just hold you for a while?”

“Only if I can hold you back,” Castiel countered. Dean gave a breathy chuckle that was filled to the brim with warmth. Dean rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel could feel his breath puffing out against the thin material covering his shoulder. Dean’s mass was warm and solid against Castiel, and Castiel knew he would be able to stay just like this for the rest of his life. 

That lasted about five minutes. His ass went numb and stiffness crept up his spine. Dean's comforting weight became a heavy force pinning him against the hood of the car. 

“You brought me to such a beautiful place,” Castiel whispered in Dean’s ear, “it'd be a shame to only see a glimpse of it.” Dean reluctantly pulled away. Castiel surged away from the car to kiss him. Dean hugged him flush against his chest.

"Wanna see where me and Sam used to fish?” There was a nervousness in his eyes that gave Castiel the feeling that this was important. He twined in fingers with Dean’s.

"That would be lovely,” Castiel leaned into Dean’s side. Dean lead him deep into the woods, following the gentle curves of the river. Birdsong filled the air and the forest breathed quietly. Dean and Castiel didn't speak. They didn't need to, which fascinated Castiel. There was so much more to gain in Dean’s silence than in conversation with anyone else. For a half hour they walked hand in hand until they reached a bend in the river. There an eddy swirled away from the main river, creating a deep pool near the shore beside the raging current.

"See? Here the big fish wait for the little fish to drift by in the current so they can eat them. This is the best spot to catch fish, if they're here they're hungry so they'll take your bait,” Dean explained. Castiel listened intently.

"Perhaps we could come back sometime, and you could teach me to fish,” Castiel suggested.

“Yeah?” Dean’s lips split into a wide smile that made Castiel's heart ache. “Yeah, that'd be fun.” Dean dropped his nose to Castiel’s cheek. Castiel sighed in contentment.

"Is there anything else to see here?” Dean shook his head

"Nah. I guess we should head ho- to the apartment,” Dean quickly amended his slip. Castiel wasn't sure why, but it warmed him to his core.

"Let's,” he replied with a kiss to Dean’s cheek. 

The ride home was miles from the ride to the beautiful forest. Dean turned his Led Zeppelin tape up loud and sang along tunelessly to each song, which amused Castiel. Dean growled a playful warning for Castiel to keep his trap shut. It wasn't like he was any better of a singer. In retaliation, Castiel sang over the top of the song playing, until he stumbled over the lyrics and Dean smirked in victory.   
Once they arrived back at the apartment, they were greeted by the smell of stale coffee, tissues and a teacup littering the floor. 

“I can clean up if you want to shower first,” Dean offered. Castiel nodded and grabbed Dean’s hand to give it a grateful squeeze. 

“Thank you.” Castiel went off to the bathroom. The shower’s heat did wonders for his sore back, although he gladly would have put up with the pain as a reminder of Dean pressed against him. Dean loved him back. He loved him back. Castiel was joyful with the knowledge. He wasn't alone anymore. He had Dean. _Till_ _you_ _fuck this up_ , a voice in the back of his head warned. Castiel knew it was right, but for now, he couldn't be bothered to care.

After the shower and a shave, Castiel felt much more human. He changed into sweats and a lounge shirt and stretched out onto the sofa while Dean replaced him in the shower. Castiel picked up his favorite book of assorted poetry and began to read. Soon, Dean clad only in sweatpants entered the living room to join him. He eyed Castiel who easily took up all available space on the sofa.

“If you don't move, I'll sit on you,” Dean warned him. Castiel arched an eyebrow and looked at Dean over the top of his book.

“Is that so?” Dean shrugged.

“Can't say I didn't warn you.” He clambered on the sofa to lay atop Castiel. His legs curled between Castiel’s and they were chest to chest. Dean tucked his head against Castiel’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. Castiel set his book aside to wrap both arms around him. 

"Oh, Dean,” he murmured, already drunk on having him near.

"You're so beautiful, angel,” Dean said, his voice was little more than a rumble against Castiel's chest. “You deserve more than a monster like me.”

“Nonsense, I'm no angel and you're no monster,” Castiel reminded him. 

“Am too. Look.” Dean waved his bad hand in front of Castiel's eyes. Castiel leaned up and pressed his cheek into it. It was lumpy with scar tissue and there was a peculiar absence where Dean’s ring finger should have been, but the hand was all Dean’s so Castiel couldn't help but love it. 

“Scars don't create a monster,” Castiel replied evenly. Dean fidgeted unhappily. 

“I know, but-”

"No buts. Besides, you're the real angel.”

“Cas-”

“Don't you know how much I hate myself? After Alastair and Balthazar, I couldn't look in a damn mirror without hating everything about what I saw. And God, I was so lonely, but as the old saying goes, you can't love anyone without loving yourself, and I knew that was something out of my reach.”

“Cas-”

“But that saying is _bullshit_. Because when you came along, I couldn't help but fall for you. And, Dean, God, I love you so much, sometimes I forget what hating myself feels like.”

“Cas.” Dean's voice was a whimper. He was fidgety and flighty and Castiel knew if he let Dean go, he would bolt, so Castiel held onto him tighter. He knew he had no right to, but Dean was the only thing that made life worth it for him. 

“Dean, I love you.” Castiel's voice was soft as a butterfly’s wingbeat; the words were only for Dean. His voice cracked higher and twin tears ran down his cheeks. “I love you. Please don't run away from me.” Dean kissed the tears away.

“I'm trying not to, I swear.”

"I know,” Castiel nuzzled into Dean’s neck and silently wept, “I know.”

 


	33. Chapter 33

Domestic life was something that Dean had always feared. Not because he felt that there was something wrong with living a domestic life, but because, he did not think he knew how to do it. He had spent his entire life moving from one place to the next. Anytime a place seemed to get comfortable, not long later, they would be moving. But here Dean was, working around the kitchen, pouring his coffee as Castiel worked to decide what he wanted. Castiel was not a morning person like Dean and Dean found this to be amusing. So, as Cas would blankly stare into the cupboard, Dean would randomly grab what he knew Cas was going to grab anyways and place it in front of him. Sometimes Castiel would glare but this morning, he just simply nodded his head in a quiet thank you to Dean. He had midterms coming up and so Dean was sure he appreciated the little bit of help.

“I may be home late,” Castiel finally spoke, jolting Dean’s attention away from the junk food he was packing into his lunch pail. He had a lunch pail, when did that happen? “With midterms around the corner, I have extended my office hours.”

“Lucky people,” Dean smiled, turning back to his lunch prep; if you can call chips and jerky a lunch. “I'll stop and get us dinner then.”

“That would be very nice, Dean.” Castiel smiled over at him and Dean could not fight a smile of his own. Not that he would want to. Sure, this was all scary but he had promised himself that he was going to make it work. He was going to fight for this one, not against it.

Finally, Dean was ready for his day. He grabbed his jacket, his lunch and a quick kiss from Cas, that was not actually as quick as a quick kiss should be, but it was worth it if it made him a minute or two late.

“Have a good day,” Cas waved Dean off to work.

_____

Dean was loving his job. He had always loved cars and knew that he wanted to be a mechanic. For a long time, he fought against it, feeling it was the job that he was supposed to do, because his father had taught him how to do it. But Dean’s love of cars and mechanics was the only good thing that he got from his dad. Okay, and maybe his extremely good looks. John Winchester had been an attractive man, mix in a little bit of Mary Winchester genes and Dean was born. Sure, he didn’t look the best now, which was a daily struggle but Dean knew he was fun to look at most of his life; he just wasn’t sure why Cas wanted to look at him now that he was defective.

“Hey boy,” Dean looked up from beneath the hood of the car he was working under. “Ellen brought some food. Take a break and come eat.”

“I’ll be right there,” Dean nodded at Bobby as he disappeared into the break room.

Dean finished up what he was doing and got himself cleaned. He had brought his lunch but he was sure that whatever Ellen had made for them was going to be much better than the junk food lunch he packed for himself. Castiel keeps trying to get Dean to eat healthier, but Dean convinced him that baby steps were the best way. He made sure to put extra tomatoes on his cheeseburgers. Someday, he would eat healthy, but for now, he could settle with watching Cas attempt it.

“Steak sandwiches,” Dean’s excitement could not be hidden when he sat down in front of one of Ellen’s famous steak sandwiches.

“Of course,” Bobby spoke after he swallowed his bite. “You don’t think she would bring us any of that hippie dippy food do ya?”

“No, of course not.” Dean laughed, looking over the rest of the table and spotting a giant bag of barbeque potato chips. This made him even more excited. They were his favorite but no one else seemed to like them. He was glad that Ellen had remembered, but of course she remembered.

“So,” Bobby broke the silence of their eating. “How you feeling around here? You liking it?”

“Definitely,” Dean smiled, he loved being here. It was the only place that had ever felt like home in his life … until recently.

“Ellen tells me you, uh,” Bobby set his sandwich down, obviously searching for the right words. They had spoken about the subject before but titles had not at the time been in place. “A boyfriend.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean nodded, quickly taking another bite of his sandwich, trying to hide how awkward he was feeling in this moment.

“That cool,” Bobby nodded. “He a good guy?”

“Probably as good as they come,” Dean spoke around his mouthful of food.

“Good,” Bobby. “How is that piece of shit in there coming?”

Dean was relieved that Bobby quickly turned the conversation back towards cars. It was not that they could not have this conversation if they wanted to, but they were those kinds of people. They acknowledged things and then moved on, nothing greater needed to get the point across. Bobby was the kind of man Dean was turning into and Dean was more than okay with that.

_____

Dean had stopped off at the store on the way home. He had intended to grab take out but decided to cook dinner instead. He was a good cook, something that he had learned as a kid but never really got the chance to showcase it. He would have, if they had more money growing up and his dad wasn’t all about burgers and pizza. Don’t get Dean wrong, he loves burgers and pizza but there was other food out there that he loved just as much. And tonight, he decided to make Castiel one of his favorites.

“What smells so good?” Dean almost jumped when Castiel had appeared behind him. He had heard the front door open and braced himself but still, Castiel was good at being quiet and suddenly just appearing behind him.

“My heavenly halibut,” Dean smiled over at his boyfriend. “Felt like fish.”

“Fish is good,” Castiel agreed, making his way out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Dean was still not sure why Cas insisted on wearing so many layers to work. He needed to show himself off more. He was a good-looking man. On second thought, layers were good.

The night moved on smoothly after that. They ate dinner, which turned out amazing and talked about their days. It felt very domestic and Dean was in love with it. He loved it all. It was the life he never imagined for himself and now he was here, having it. Cas seemed to be enjoying their time together as well, smiling more and more as the days went on. Putting smiles on Castiel’s face had become his new mission in life.

Finally, their night had taken them to the bedroom. Their sex life was still new to Dean and generally they spent their evenings kissing and nothing more. Dean appreciated that Cas let Dean go at his own pace when it came to this. It was not that he was against it, he just felt very out of place, at least up until the moment when the sex started, then the world melted away and it just became him and Cas. That is what Dean was going for tonight, just him and Cas.

“Fuck,” Dean growled against Castiel’s mouth as he pushed them both into the room. Dean had been thinking about this moment all day, though he would never admit it out loud. Suddenly it was happening and Dean was hungrier for it than he had anticipated. He could not get at Castiel fast enough, pulling at his clothes, not caring if they ended up ruined or not. Cas seemed equally as hungry as Dean, pulling back at the small amount of clothing Dean was wearing.

When they made it into the room, Dean pushed Castiel against the wall, a little harder than he had intended and leaned in to nibble at his neck. That is when it happened. Castiel’s entire body stiffened up and he … he flinched.

“Oh God,” Dean pulled away from Castiel and backed himself across the room. He had hurt him, he had not meant to hurt him. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean … I was only. I … Cas … I’m so.”

Dean was a mess. He had messed up. That moment of fear that flickered through Castiel’s eyes proved just how much he had messed up. Castiel had been through hell and Dean was not making it any better. He knew to be careful, he knew this. He was stupid for forgetting. How could he forget?

“Dean,” Castiel moved away from the wall toward Dean but Dean took another step back. He did not want Cas to get near him. He did not want to hurt him again. He did not want to hurt him ever.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Dean blurted out, dropping down to his knees. “I hurt you. I’m sorry, Cas. Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Castiel dropped down to his knees in front of Dean and pulled him into his arms, tears falling from his eyes as well. Dean could not see his face but he could feel Cas’ tears hitting his cheek and it was too much. He could not take what he was doing to Cas. But Cas’ grip was strong and he held on to Dean as if his life depended on it. Dean’s did. Dean’s life depended on Cas. He knew he should not put so much onto the man’s shoulders but it was true. Dean’s entire existence was Cas.

“Please don’t leave me,” Dean sobbed out, unsure of where the words came from but knowing that it was his greatest fear. “I love you. You can’t leave me.”

Okay, so this was probably the wrong time to tell Cas the words he had been feeling for a while now, but Cas needed to know. Cas needed to know that Dean loved him, all of him. Dean was so in love that it hurt.

“I would never leave you,” Cas promised as he kissed at Dean’s forehead. “I did not mean to flinch. Old habits die hard.”

“I scared you,” Dean repeated, more to himself than to Castiel.

“No,” Castiel grabbed Dean’s chin and brought his head up so that Dean was forced to look at him. “You didn't care me. I’m just broken remember?”

“Some messed up couple we are,” Dean laughed, though he was still feeling more fear than humor.

** “All the great one’s are,” Cas let out a low chuckle. “If love was perfect, poetry would be awful.”   
**


	34. Chapter 34

“If love was perfect, poetry would be awful.” Castiel’s chuckle was a response to Dean’s laughter, but he felt utterly mirthless. He'd flinched in muscle memory, nothing more. Dean wasn't Alistair. No one was Alistair. Dean had never caused him intentional pain, his heart was too gentle. Castiel held Dean close, and Dean wept into this bare shoulder. 

"C-Cas,” Dean's voice was hoarse with tears, “I didn't mean to, God I'd never..” Castiel pressed a kiss to Dean’s head, and scrubbed a few tears from his cheeks. 

“Will you lay with me for a moment?” Castiel asked in a murmur. Dean nodded and Castiel pulled away from him to go and recline on the bed. A blush tinged his cheeks as he realized that he was clad only in his boxers. Dean was as well though, so Castiel tried to quell his embarrassment. Dean timidly stood and made his way over to Castiel. He hovered at the edge of the bed, his eyes an ocean of unshed tears. Castiel gave his own stomach an inviting pat and Dean scrambled to lay lengthwise on top of him. Castiel's arms came around him, and Dean resumed his weeping. 

“So sorry,” he whispered. Castiel rubbed his back soothingly.

“It's me who should be saying sorry to you,” Castiel gentled. Dean’s tears were breaking his heart. “You didn't hurt me, Dean, I swear. I'm sorry I flinched. That had nothing to do with you, I wasn't afraid, it was just an instinct.”

“No,” Dean growled, “I could've been more considerate. I know what's been done to you.”

“I'm not the only one who's seen hell,” Castiel reminded him, “And there's only one scar that hurts me.” He brought Dean’s fingers down to the gouge above his hip. He guided Dean’s hand in stroking over it. Dean jerked away from it when his fingers sank into the tender canyon. Castiel fought the hiss that attempted to escape his lips. 

“How…?” Dean’s voice was filled with emotion. Castiel nuzzled his nose into Dean’s hair. 

"Alistair was known among his friends as Picasso with a razor. He was rather fond of his knives. Particularly the one he used on me. Though I am of a little blame. My fear kept me from medical attention and the ensuing infection almost took my life,” Castiel recounted

“No, Cas, no,” Dean raised his head to look  
Castiel in the eyes, “this isn't any of your fault.” Castiel gave Dean’s back a soothing pass.

“Come now, let’s move on to happier subjects. I'm sure we can salvage the evening.” Castiel said, uncomfortable with where the conversation had turned. He wasn't ready to face who was at fault when it came to his run ins with Alistair. Castiel offered Dean a weak smile and leaned up to meet his lips. Dean immediately returned the kiss and Castiel bucked his hips, attempting to reach arousal again. Dean resumed his kisses on Castiel's neck, but they were gentler now, more calculated and there was no teeth to be spoken of. He met the rolls of Castiel’s hips with his own, and raised himself up to rid himself of his boxers. He then placed a kiss on Castiel’s clavicle. Then his sternum. Then just above his navel. Then a gentle brush of lips to the gouge. 

“Cas,” Dean pleaded, toying with the waistband of Castiel's underwear, “Can I...I want to blow you.” Castiel thrust his fingers into Dean’s hair, and rubbed his scalp. He was rewarded with a winning smile from Dean. 

“I give you full permission. Don't feel like you have to, though.” Castiel sat up and pulled his boxers down and kicked them off. His length stood at attention. Dean crawled forward. 

"Yeah, but I want to,” Dean leaned down and hesitated. “I might be terrible at this,” he warned. Castiel shook his head. 

“No, you won't. Having your mouth on me will be exhilarating, beautiful thing.” Castiel didn't know where the pet term came from, but it felt right as soon as it fell of his tongue. Dean, thankfully, ignored it. Instead he looked at the throbbing length of Castiel’s cock. He bent down and gave it a kitten lick. Castiel groaned. Dean licked him again, right along the slit and gathered the precome there. 

“So far so good?” He looked up at Castiel. Castiel cupped his cheek and allowed his thumb a loving skim of the cheekbone. 

“Amazing.” Dean gave him a grin that rivaled fire in its warmth. He offered the head of Castiel's length a few more licks before carefully engulfing Castiel's length in his mouth. Castiel forced his hips not to buck wildly, but as Dean gave him a hard suck, he couldn't help his movements. He buried both hands into Dean’s hair and gave shallow cants of his hips. Dean’s mouth was driving him wild. All Castiel could think about was Dean’s eyes, half hidden beneath eyelids as he concentrated on making Castiel feel good. Love burst like a comet in Castiel’s chest. And Dean, lovely, beautiful, Dean, was trying so hard to make him feel better and remedy a perceived mistake. He was so selfless, so _good_. A wretch Castiel would never deserve him. But he loved him. Oh, how Castiel loved Dean. Castiel's breath was coming in pants, but he knew the words he had to manage.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you, till China and Africa meet. And the river jumps over the mountain, and the salmon sing in the street. I'll love you till the ocean is folded and hung up to dry, and the seven stars go squawking like geese about the sky.” Dean pulled off Castiel's length with an obscene noise. Castiel drew him close and rolled their lengths together. 

“Love you,” Dean whispered like he was confessing a great fear.

“I love you too,” Castiel murmured back. With that, they came messily together. Castiel hugged Dean to him and fell back on the bed. Dean snuggled in close and sighed as he drifted off to sleep. Castiel, drowsy with a post-coital haze was soon to follow. 

They next day found Castiel unwilling to get up. Dean was already awake and preparing to go to work. He had to finish a special something or other and would be gone for a few hours. Castiel rolled grumpily out of bed. He hated waking up without Dean’s arms around him. He stumbled into the den and Dean pressed a mug of tea into his hands with a good morning kiss that Castiel sighed into.

“I'll be back by lunch time. Maybe we could head over to the Roadhouse?” Dean suggested. Castiel nodded.

“That'd be lovely. I'll see you later.” Dean gave him another kiss.

“Bye, Cas.” And he was gone. Castiel plopped down on the sofa to enjoy his tea. Annabel leapt up beside him and began to purr when Castiel stroked her. Dean wasn't exactly fond of her, but Annabel was too darling to outright dislike. Or so Castiel thought anyway. 

He mulled over the events of last night. Did Dean really think Castiel would leave him? How could he? Dean was all Castiel had. But, perhaps Castiel wasn't doting enough in his affection. He had been spending a lot of time at work lately, was he being inattentive? Fuck all, of course he had to go and make Dean feel inadequate. Well, he had to fix it. Castiel showered and dressed and left the apartment to wander around town for inspiration. 

After an hour and no luck, Castiel caught a glimpse of a jewelry store. Instinct guided him inside and Castiel knew what he had to do the moment he saw it. It was a silver chain inlaid with what looked to be emeralds. It was thick enough to be masculine, but the delicate metalwork gave it beauty. 

“How much for this?” Castiel asked the clerk who had been examining a ring behind the counter. The young man looked at the necklace Castiel was gesturing to.

“Three hundred,” the clerk replied. Castiel dug through his wallet. He felt a little sick as he handed over the money, but the chain could only belong around Dean’s neck. Besides, with Dean’s income and Castiel's recent raise, he could afford a little frivolity.   
Castiel left the store with a long box containing the chain tucked inside his pocket. He returned to the apartment and did some cleaning and some lesson planning while he awaited Dean’s return. Some part of him worried Dean would hate the gift and the gesture it contained. He fussed over the house until he heard Dean’s key in the door. Dean came into the apartment, looking happy and covered in grease.

"Hey, Cas,” he greeted as he pressed a warm kiss to Castiel’s cheek, “Let me shower and then we can head out for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Castiel replied weakly. Dean went off to freshen himself. Castiel went to get the box, and fiddled with it till Dean returned fifteen minutes later, clean and smelling like everything Castiel could ever want. He smiled at Castiel.

“Ready?”

“In a moment. Dean, I was thinking about last night…” Castiel began. Dean’s face fell so quickly, Castiel felt his heart seize. All the light and warmth seemed to drain from the room. Dean looked like he was facing a dread nightmare. His face was an abysmal nothing. 

"I see. So this is it, then?” Dean was obviously fighting tears. A tear slid onto Castiel's cheek. He began to shiver. The thought of losing Dean was to horrible. Castiel forced his words out past the lump in his throat. 

"No. No. I…I wanted you to know that I would never leave you, so I...I got you a gift,” Castiel amended quickly. Relief filled Dean's face. A giddy smile spread across his lips like honey in the sun. 

“Cas, you didn't have to get me anything,” Dean told him firmly. Castiel extended the box to Dean. 

“Just open it.” Dean gingerly took the box and opened it. He simply stared at the chain within it. Castiel's stomach dropped. He hated it. 

“Cas, this is too much. It's too, God, Cas this is gorgeous,” Dean said. He gave Castiel a worried look. “I have nothing for you.” Castiel took the chain from the box and clasped it around Dean’s neck, then he kissed Dean's lips and was enveloped in a hug.

“I already have everything I want."

 


	35. Chapter 35

Dean had been racking his brain for the past week. The gift the Castiel had given him was beautiful and never left Dean’s neck, unless he was taking a shower or doing something that could bring any kind of damage to it. No one had ever simply given him a gift. Sure, he had gotten gifts as a child but none of them had as much meaning as this one, except the necklace Sammy had given him one year. It was meant to be a gift for their father for Christmas, but when he didn’t show up, Sam gave it to Dean instead. It hung from the mirror in the impala. So, in all truthfulness, it was him who had never given someone a gift before.

“Hey, you,” Ellen made her way across the bar and pulled Dean into a hug. Ellen was not Dean’s mother, but she was the closest thing that he had to one and being wrapped in her arms was a good feeling. He needed to be more open to the fact that more than Cas loved him. He had a family, it was him who had a hard time with the word love. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I kind of need your help,” Dean shuffled on his feet. Help. His life was full of him now doing things that he never would have done before. First falling in love and now asking for help, he really was growing soft. But it was good. Soft was good.

“You name it,” Ellen never let the smile fade from her face but he could sense the worry. Of course, her mind would go to a bad place. Dean needing help had to be a bad thing. “I don’t have to kill anyone, do I?”

“No,” Dean laughed and relaxed himself, which caused Ellen to relax as well. “No murdering is to occur during this favor … I hope.”

“So, what can I do for you?” Ellen moved away from Dean and headed behind the bar, it was practically dead but there were a few customers that she still needed to tend to. “Want a beer?”

“It’s a little early for a beer,” Dean pulled up a seat at the bar. Ellen gave him a brief glance, a small smile across her face before turning back to something she was doing behind the bar. “I will take a cup of coffee though.”

“One coffee,” Ellen grabbed him a cup and set it in front of him. “So, what can I do for you?”

“So, Cas,” Dean started, pulling the mug of hot coffee toward him and taking in the smell.

“Stop right there,” Ellen put her hand up, a worried expression crossing over her face. “There is still a Cas, right?”

“Yes,” Dean laughed and nodded in reassurance. “There is definitely still a Cas.”

“Okay, good,” Ellen let out the breath she had been holding and gave him a comforting, motherly smile. “So, Cas?”

“He …” Dean paused, he was not good at the expressing himself shit and here he was, doing it again. “He got me this.”

Dean pulled the necklace out from under his shirt. It was not purposefully hidden, Dean just worried about it being ruined. So, he tucked it away at times when he worried it could get damaged. He loved the Roadhouse, but he was not going to go around flashing off his valuables to the drunken and, at times, shady patrons.

“Wow,” Ellen leaned in to get a better look at the necklace. “That looks like it cost a pretty penny.”

“You’re telling me,” Dean huffed.

“So, what do you need my help with?” Ellen raised an eyebrow at him. “Seems like you have things under control.”

“I have no idea what to get him in return,” Dean gave her an exasperated look. “He says I don’t have to give him anything in return, but I feel like I should.”

“Was it a special occasion?” Ellen questioned, trying to get a better feel for the situation.

“Love,” Dean chuckled to himself. It was not that it was funny but that it was so strange to him that he couldn’t wrap his head around it. Humor made it easier to take in.

“I see,” Ellen’s face said it all. He could not remember the last time he had seen her this happy and it was because of him.

“I don’t have the money to buy him something as amazing as this necklace,” Dean admitted. He had just started his job and while he wasn't broke, he didn’t just have money lying around to spend currently.

“Oh, sweetie,” Ellen shook her head at him. “Giving a gift doesn't have to cost you any money. In fact, wait right here.”

Ellen quickly checked on the patrons in the bar, refilled a couple cups of coffee and then headed up the stairs directly behind the bar. Ellen did not live here but that did not stop her from filling up the upstairs like it was a second home. Dean waited patiently for a good ten minutes before she finally re-emerged.

“Here,” Ellen handed Dean a small box. “Try this.”

Dean opened the box, his eyes going wide with remembrance and a slight amount of sadness. “This is perfect.”

______

Dean paced back and forth across the living room, waiting for Cas to get out of the shower. Part of Dean wanted to get in and join him. His desire to be near Cas always was at an all-time high. The closer they were to each other, the better Dean felt. When they were apart, there was this constant weight on his chest, leaving him to count the hours before it would be lifted and he would be near Cas again. He was not sure if this co-dependency was healthy or not, but for now, he was going to call if love and move on. It was sure to get easier to be apart for merely hours at a time.

“What’s going on?” Cas startled Dean out of his thoughts and he jumped slightly, turning around to make eye contact.

Dean quickly gave Cas a smile. This had become customary for them. Even when they were startled or nervous, they needed to express in some way that they were okay. Both had a history of crappy shit happening in their lives and they had to get it across that nothing was seriously wrong. That way, the other one would not freak out.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“You are pacing,” Castiel ran his towel through his hair and Dean’s brain short circuited for a moment. “Pacing is never a good sign.”

“Right,” Dean stopped his feet from moving so that he could only stand in one spot. His heart was racing now, still nervous as hell.

What if Cas did not like what Dean was about to give him? It was not some fancy expensive necklace. In fact, Dean was sure that it was originally pretty cheap. But Cas would love it right? Cas did not care about money or how much something was worth in actual price value. Cas would love anything Dean gave him. Right?

“I um,” Dean could not stand still any longer and began to, once again, shuffle back and forth on his feet. “I have something for you.”

“Dean,” Castiel made his way over to Dean and wrapped his arms around him, stilling him at his side. “I told you that you didn't have to get me anything. I just wanted to show you that I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Dean nodded before pressing their foreheads together. “But I wanted to do the same thing.”

“Okay,” Castiel did not argue with him and Dean was grateful for that.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, pulling away from his boyfriend and making his way over to where his coat was hanging by the door. He dug around for a moment in the front pocket, before lacing his fingers around the box. He took a few deep breaths before turning around and making his way back over to Cas.

Dean fidgeted with the box between his fingers. This felt serious. He knew this was real and that this was serious but right now, it felt about as serious as it could get. So, he was not surprised when his fingers began to shake, the lid of the box being removed. He set the lid down and reached into the box, pulling out a necklace of his own.

The necklace itself was simple. It was thin in nature, and Dean hoped that it would not break. He made a mental note to buy Cas a sturdier chain, if Cas even liked the necklace to begin with. It was silver, though it had darkened over the years, not shining as bright as Dean had remembered. It had an image, raised above the surface of the coin, of an angel standing guard over a small child.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas reached out and ran his fingers over the angel and small child. “It’s wonderful.”

“It was my mother's,” Dean unclasped the necklace and made his way to hook it around Cas’ neck. Once it was in place, Dean stepped in front of Cas once again. “She loved angels. She always used to tell me when I was little that ‘angels were watching over me.’”

Dean smiled at the thought of his mother, wrapping him in her arms and talking about angels and how one day, they would become angels themselves.

“I actually think …” Dean paused, working to hold back tears. He hated how he had become a crier. “I think she is why I found you.”

“Dean,” Cas looked up at him through tear filled eyes of his own.

** “She knew I needed an angel,” Dean leaned in and pressed his lips to the angel that had saved his life, quietly thanking his mother for sending him his saving grace.   
**


	36. Chapter 36

The pendant of the angel hung heavy around Castiel's neck. He loved it, and he wore it with reverence because it was beautiful and Dean had given it to him. But. It used to belong to Dean’s mother, and Castiel, having never known her, wasn't sure he could grant her and the possessions she left behind with the respect she deserved. After all, she had birthed the love of his life. The thought was always there, eating at his mind, he should be doing something more to honor the woman whose son he adored. What, though? He could hardly speak with her, or make her something, or do anything conventional to respect her. The puzzle cluttered Castiel’s brain. 

It was night, three weeks after Dean had bestowed his gift on Castiel when the solution struck him. He and Dean were lying in bed, talking. Dean’s back was pressed against his chest and Castiel’s fingers glided idly over his stomach.

“Don't wanna go to work tomorrow,” Dean was grumbling sleepily. “Lucky.” Castiel pressed an apologetic kiss to his shoulder.

“Don't envy me too much. I have a lot to grade.” Dean rolled over so he tuck his face against Castiel's shoulder.

“Yeah, but…” Dean paused. “Never mind.”

“What?” Castiel flung an arm around him. 

“It's stupid,” Dean insisted.

“Not to me.”

“I always visit my mom’s grave in spring. Or at least I did, before I got deployed.” Castiel pressed the sweetest kiss he could muster to Dean’s hair. 

“That's lovely,” he told Dean. His mind raced to his solution. If Dean couldn't visit his mother’s grave, well then Castiel would just have to go in his stead. 

“But I have to work,” Dean’s lips formed into an unhappy frown.

“You enjoy your work. I'm sure your mother won't mind,” Castiel soothed him. He massaged slow circles over Dean’s back. Dean sighed. 

“I guess you're right. Night, Cas,” Dean mumbled into Castiel's chest. The necklace Dean gave him was gently resting near Dean’s temple. 

“Goodnight, Dean.” Castiel had wanted to say I love you, but goodnight would have to do. 

The next day, Castiel was awoken when Dean rose to get ready for work. He shook sleep from his brain and went to prepare a little breakfast while Dean showered. Castiel was a far poorer cook than Dean, but he still managed to fry a little bacon and some eggs to make into breakfast sandwiches. 

“Is this all for me?” Dean appeared in the small kitchenette as Castiel plated up the sandwiches. Castiel set a mug of coffee beside Dean’s plate. He turned around to face Dean with a small smile.

“I suppose.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Dean grinned and pulled Castiel in for a deep kiss. Castiel melted against Dean, helpless against his charms just like he knew he always would be. With one last parting press of his lips, Dean devoured his sandwich. Castiel couldn't help the flutter of adoration that settled in his chest. Dean wiped some stray crumbs from his lips and attached them first to Castiel’s cheek, chastely, then his neck, not so chastely.

“You’ll be late,” Castiel warned him. Dean nuzzled his jaw.

“I'll miss you,” he said.

“I'll miss you more,” Castiel countered. Dean laughed and reached for the lunch pail Castiel had prepared for him. He pressed one last kiss into Castiel’s lips. 

“See you after work,” Dean called as he left. _I love you_ teetered at the edge of Castiel’s lips, begging to be spilled out. 

“Be safe,” Castiel replied. He wolfed down his sandwich and took a quick shower. He dressed in his favorite sweater and was careful that his glasses were on straight. He tucked his necklace against his chest and grabbed his favorite book of poetry. Before he left, he filled Annabel’s bowl with kibble. He then left the apartment and hailed a cab to take him to the florist shop. Once there, he purchased a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses. He wasn't sure why them in particular, but something felt right. He then got a cab to take him to the only cemetery he knew of in Lawrence.

He was lucky. A simple question of the groundskeeper had him standing before the simple headstone of Mary Winchester. It was clear that no one wealthy paid for the grave, but it was beautiful all the same. Castiel careful laid his roses down before the headstone and kneeled down in the grass. He rested a hand on the cold stone, opened his book of poetry and read, 

“Once more I summon you/Out of the past/With poignant love,/You who nourished the poet/And the lover./I see your gray eyes/Looking out to sea/In those Rockport summers,/Keeping a distance/Within the closeness/Which was never intrusive/Opening out/Into the world./And what I remember/Is how we laughed/Till we cried/Swept into merriment/Especially when times were hard./And what I remember/Is how you never stopped creating/And how people sent me/Dresses you had designed/With rich embroidery/In brilliant colors/Because they could not bear/To give them away/Or cast them aside./I summon you now/Not to think of/The ceaseless battle/With pain and ill health,/The frailty and the anguish./No, today I remember/The creator,/The lion-hearted.” 

Castiel finished the poem, tore out the page and laid it beside the flowers. Words that he normally could simply pluck from his brain deserted him. Mary Winchester was nothing and everything to him. They had never crossed paths and yet she had created the greatest gift Castiel had ever been granted. She was the mother of dreams and sugar. The mother of beauty and kindness. Mary Winchester gave life to a man so exquisite that Castiel was sure his molecules were written in calligraphy and honey.

At a loss, Castiel stayed silent. He gave the headstone a reverent stroke. Emotions churned into a whirlwind within him, and before Castiel knew it, he was weeping. He cried for sadness and joy and gratitude and love. For two hours Castiel sat before Mary Winchester’s grave and wept. Afterward, he felt exhausted and baptized by the exodus of emotions he hadn't known he was keeping pent up. He pressed the necklace Dean gave him to his lips and with one last touch of the headstone, Castiel left the cemetery to return to the apartment. 

Once back home, Castiel collapsed onto the sofa. He felt he'd never been more tired, though he knew that probably wasn't true. All the same, Annabel came and curled on his chest and began to purr. Her gentle vibrations lulled Castiel to sleep. Hours later, Castiel was awoken by fingers in his hair and a warm smile above him.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Dean rumbled warmly. Castiel sat up and moved so Dean could sit beside him. “What got you so tuckered out?”

“I visited your mother’s grave,” Castiel replied hesitantly. Dean visibly stiffened.

“Why?” Dean's scrutiny was almost unbearable. 

“You said you try to visit her in the spring. You couldn't, so I didn't want her to get lonely,” Castiel told him carefully. Dean’s eyes became suspiciously bright. 

“Really?” Castiel nodded.

“Besides, you gave me her necklace and I've thanked you, but it was hers once and that means something. I thought I ought to thank her too.” Castiel bit his lip, waiting for Dean to tell him he's overstepped his bounds. But all that came was Dean's arms engulfing him in a warm hug.

“You get it,” he said in wonder, slightly muffled by Castiel’s sweater, “you actually get it.”

“There's nothing to get,” Castiel responded, “You're all I have and you love them. That makes them my family too.”


	37. Chapter 37

Dean took more than a few deep breaths before entering a bar he had never heard of until a few days ago. An old friend of his from his teenage years had come into the shop and upon catching up a little, Dean had learned that he owned a bar. He had invited Dean to come out this weekend and have a good time on him, Dean declined, saying that he wasn’t much for going out these days, but at Victor’s insistence, Dean finally agreed. He told him that he could come out for a few hours on Saturday. Victor seemed pleased by this answer. They exchanged phone numbers and after Dean promised two more times that he would be there, Victor finally accepted it and left. So, now Dean was here and he wished he was anywhere but. Castiel had told him to have fun though, so he was going to at least try.

Dean met Victor his Junior year of High School. Dean was never really the kid to show up all the time and this seemed to catch Victor’s eye. Victor, much like Dean at the time, figured the two of them could get into some good old fashioned trouble, and they did. They broke the law more times than Dean could count; luckily for them, they never seemed to get caught. Dean was sure his life would be different if he had gotten caught for some of the crappy things he did in his life. But he was paying for it now. Dean looked down at his hand and arm, missing digits and fried up skin, yeah, Dean was paying for his actions.

“Winchester,” Dean’s eyes looked up and across the bar, falling quickly onto Victor who was behind the bar.  _ Here goes nothing. _

“Henriksen!” Dean explained, trying to put on a ‘happy to be out’ face. He really wanted to go home.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Victor said before turning and whispering something to a pretty brunette who was behind the counter. He then made his way around the bar and over towards Dean. “You seemed to be apprehensive.”

“I just don’t really go out these days,” Dean admitted, and it was true. Dean preferred it that way though. He did not need bars and alcohol. He needed Castiel and kitty cuddles, even if they did tend to make him sneeze.

“Doesn’t sound like the Dean Winchester that I knew,” Victor threw out there, purposefully trying to be rude but in the nicest of ways possible. Dean would be mad if he didn’t know better. Victor had always been that way. Just because Dean had changed his ways, didn’t mean that Victor had to.

“Yeah well war and death will do that to a person,” Dean threw back.

Victor nodded his head, realizing that maybe this was not the topic he should be discussing with Dean and then shrugged, motioning for Dean to follow him. Dean took a deep breath before making his way across the crowded bar to an empty booth with a reserved sign in the back. Victor pulled the sign off the table and tossed it into a corner before sitting down.

“I saved us a spot in case you showed up,” Victor motioned for Dean to sit across from him and he did.

Dean looked around the bar at all the patrons. Many them seemed to be in their early twenties, laughing and having a good time. A few people looked Dean over, noticing that his scars. Dean wanted to hide but he sat up tall instead. Castiel would not want Dean to hide who he was, even though Castiel was decent at hiding himself. Both had been working on their confidence levels. Dean was getting there but he still felt like a monster most of the time.

“So,” Victor brought the awkward silence to an end. “How the hell have you been? Besides war and death and all that stuff that sounds dreadful?”

Dean straightened up in his seat again, not really sure how to answer these questions. Did he talk about war? He had hated war and everything that came along with it? Did he talk about Castiel? Dean was out to his closest family and friends but this was Victor. Dean was not sure Victor was the kind of guy who would accept something like that from Dean.

“I have been working mostly,” Dean decided to start with an easy subject. “Been trying to get used a life where I’m not fighting to survive.”

“I’m glad you’re working at the shop,” Victor took to the conversation happily. “I always figured you would end up there at some point.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, forcing himself to smile. “It’s been really great.”

“You still go out to the roadhouse?” Victor asked. Dean and him used to go to the roadhouse after school and eat whatever Ellen would feed them. She once told them they were going to eat her out of business. But she always had a smile on her face when she said it, so Dean knew that she did not care.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, in fact, it was one of the only places they went out to eat at. Not just because of Ellen but because they had the best burgers and well … burgers. “It’s kind of like a home away from home.”

“Yeah,” Victor nodded. “And that Jo … wow. She sure got hot.”

“Uh,” Dean hesitated, not really sure how to feel about this. “Yeah. She grew up.”

“Grew up?” Victor gawked at Dean while raising his hand to have the brunette behind the bar bring them some drinks. “She is like sex on legs.”

“Dude,” Dean shook his head. “That’s like my little sister you are talking about there.”

“Whatever man,” Victor laughed, grabbing a shot as it was sat down on the table. “I’d fuck her.”

“Well you have fun with that,” Dean grabbed a shot and hammered it back. This was a drinking night. If he stayed sober, he had a feeling that he was going to hate every moment of the evening.

_____

“You see that girl?” Victor leaned over the table, his words slurring together. Six shots and two beers tended to do that to a person. Dean was right there with him though.  “Name's May.”

“Okay,” Dean leaned onto the table and turned his head toward the bar, working to get a good view of her.  “What of her?”

“She thinks you’re hot,” Victor raised an eyebrow at Dean and gave him a smug smile. “You should go talk to her. I bet her boss might let her go home early.”

“Not really interested,” Dean could feel himself sober up, only part was, he was far from sober. “Thank you though.”

“What do you mean you aren’t interested?” Victor pointed over at her, making sure that Dean was looking at the right woman. “She’s crazy hot.”

“I’m just not interested, okay?” Dean needed to be out of here but he was in no condition to drive. He could call Castiel but it was after ten and Castiel was probably asleep by now. He did not want to be that boyfriend. “But thank you again.”

“You got a girl or something?” Victor leaned back against the bar. “I figured if you had a girl you would have mentioned something about her already or brought her with you even.”

“I um …” Dean swallowed hard. “I think I need to go.”

“Seriously?” Victor reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm to stop him from walking away from the table. “Trying to hook you up with a hot girl is enough to leave? If you have a girlfriend just tell me man. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” Dean whispered to himself. His wished it was as simple as that. He wished that dating a man was not something that the majority of the world looked down on. He wished that he was not so damn afraid to admit to anyone who asked that he was crazy in love with Castiel, because he was .

“Now sit back down,” Victor pulled at Dean’s arm until Dean was sitting down again. “You got a girl. I get it. I’love stop trying to hook you up with May.”

“Thank you,” Dean nodded, reaching forward and grabbing his beer. He downed the rest of it and slammed it a little too hard against the table.

Dean felt like shit. Why could he not come out and admit it? Why was he such a coward? Could he ever be the man that Castiel deserved if he could not even admit that he was with him? The world was changing, people were changing. How would the world know to change for people like Dean and Cas if they did not show the world that they were there, waiting for it?

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Dean blurted out, his hand quickly coming up and covering his mouth.

“Okay,” Victor gave Dean a confused look. “So, May is just not your type? Should we find you a blond?”

“No,” Dean brought his shaking hand down to the table. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Um,” Victor began to speak but Dean did not give him the chance.

“I have a boyfriend,” Dean spat out, much louder than he had intended, he just hoped that only Victor could hear him.

“Ha,” Victor laughed, choking on the beer that was in his mouth. “Good one Winchester. I told you that I wouldn’t try to set you up with her anymore.”

“And I appreciate that,” Dean tried to smile but there was so much fear coursing though him. “But I’m also telling you the truth. I don’t have a girlfriend … because I have a boyfriend. His name is Castiel.”

Dean sat in panic, waiting for all of this to register through Victor’s drunk mind. He prepared himself to fight or leave the bar as quickly as he could. Either of those options were covered and he was ready.

“Well that’s new,” Victor thought about this for a minute before nodding, giving Dean a thoughtful smile and taking another sip of his beer. “Why didn’t you bring him then?”

“Um,” What? They were not going to fight about this? He was not going to call Dean every name in the book or kick him out of the bar, or worse, just kick him? “You … you’re okay with this?”

“Well I’m not into dick or anything,” Victor gave Dean a look that said he hoped Dean didn’t think he was gay. “But if you do, all the power to ya man.”

“Oh,” Dean let out the breath that he had been holding. “Cool.”

“What kind of name is Castiel?” Victor asked.

Dean only laughed. That was a story for another time.

______

Dean had waited until he was sober enough to drive home. It was just after midnight and thankfully, there had been no cops on the road between the bar and their apartment. He didn’t drive horribly, but he knew that if he got pulled over, he would more than likely be going to jail for the night.

Once safely home, Dean quietly made his way into the apartment and stripped himself of his clothes. He did not want to make any more noise in the bedroom than he needed to.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly into the dark as Dean crawled into bed and pressed his chest to Cas’ back. “When did you get home?”

“Just now,” Dean kissed Castiel’s shoulder and cuddled into him.

“Everything go alright?” Cas asked, slight concern in his voice.

“Yes,” Dean nodded into Cas’ shoulder. “Things went more than alright. Victor would love for you to come next time.”

“I would like that,” Cas relaxed into Dean. “Goodnight, Dean.”

** “Goodnight, Cas.”   
**


	38. Chapter 38

Castiel woke up to Dean’s arm firmly around his waist and Annabel purring away on the end of the bed in a patch of sunlight. Castiel tried to stretch subtly but Dean stirred anyway. He tightened his grip around Castiel and sighed into his shoulder. 

“I didn't mean to wake you,” Castiel murmured. He turned around in Dean’s arms to place a kiss against his chest. Dean nuzzled into the top of Castiel's head.

“I had to get up anyway. Stupid college professors who don't have to work Saturday mornings,” Dean lamented without malice. Castiel huffed out a whispery laugh. He left a lingering kiss on Dean’s neck. 

“I'll make it worth your while when you get home,” he promised. Dean finally pulled away and rolled out of bed. 

“I'll hold you to that,” Dean mumbled as he stumbled into the bathroom. Castiel smiled to himself and sat up to give Annabel a long pet. He got out of bed and went into the kitchen to make toast and coffee for Dean. He added a glass of water and two aspirin for good measure. Dean had been home rather late last night. He had a plate and mug ready for Dean when he came fully clothed out into the tiny living room. He dropped a kiss on Castiel's lips.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Dean asked as he sat and took his painkillers.

“Eat,” Castiel told him. He was still a little uncomfortable with Dean’s affection. He felt he had to prepare himself for Dean’s inevitable departure from his life, even though he loved Dean with all his soul.

“I am,” Dean told him around a mouthful of toast. Castiel couldn't help but smile.

“I see you are. I'm sorry. Breakfast would have been better if I'd’ve had a little bacon to fry up.” Dean waved him away.

“Stop, Cas. It’s good,” Dean smiled around a mouthful and leaned over the table to give Castiel a toast flavored kiss.

“My, my, you're quite the kisser today,” Castiel hummed happily.

“Can't help it,” Dean grinned. “Something about Saturday.”

“I'll put that to use after you come home this evening. What would you like for dinner?”

“I'll go to the store on my way home and pick up stuff to make a stuffed chicken.”

“That sounds lovely,” Castiel brought Dean in for kiss on the lips, then the cheek. Dean pulled away to get up and get his lunch pail. Castiel watched him. God, how did he get so lucky?

“Well, I'm gonna head out. I’ll be home in the early afternoon,” Dean said. He kissed Castiel’s cheek. “See you then.”

“See you then,” Castiel replied warmly. Dean gave him one last kiss before leaving Castiel alone. Castiel missed him. He always missed Dean but it seemed worse when he was at home with no work to speak of. In an attempt to distract himself, Castiel showered, fed Annabel, then went for a walk. 

The day was brisk, but Castiel welcomed the slight chill. It made him feel awake, even though it meant autumn was around the corner. Castiel had never experienced November with another person because he had a sinking feeling it may just chase them away. If his madness chased away Dean...he shook his head. Today wasn't a bad day, and he didn't need thoughts of the future to darken it. But the thoughts lingered at the back of his mind, eating away at his peace. Castiel drew into himself as he walked. He needed to calm down. He needed to be okay.

A sign in a tattoo shop window caught his eye and momentarily distracted him. Free scar cover ups, the sign announced. Castiel bit his lip and entered the shop. The sterile smell and the sound of buzzing assaulted his senses. A burly, bearded man greeted Castiel with a jut of the chin. 

“You here for the scar cover up?” 

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. Regret was sharp and instantaneous, but he didn't run. What was he doing? The man pulled out a pen and paper.

“What would you like and where?” 

“Script. Uh, it's along my ribs.” If he was going to get a scar covered up, Castiel guessed it should be the first he ever received. 

“What do you want it to say?”

“Um.” Castiel lowered his head . “‘Upon what instrument are we two spanned? And what musician holds us in his hand? Oh, sweetest song'.” Castiel's favorite poem, because it reminded him of Dean. The man nodded and scribbled on to the paper. 

“Okay. I'll go put this into a transfer.” He gestured to a padded table deeper within the shop. “Go sit and I'll be right with you.” Castiel silently did as asked and dropped his head to his hands. What the hell was he doing? He was too young for a midlife crisis, so what was this? Impulsive and stupid. But some part of him was ecstatic to hide a scar from view, and hide it with the words he had spent his life surrounding himself with. The lyrics to the poem he had recited the Dean the first time they had been together. The poem would forever and always remind him of Dean and all the light he had brought to Castiel's life. Even if Dean left him, he would now always have these words inked under his skin. The man returned.

“Take off your shirt,” he commanded. Castiel fumbled with his buttons and finally pushed his shirt off. He felt rather than saw the man’s gaze over his scarred torso and immediately wrapped his arms around himself. The man found the scar along Castiel's ribs and pressed a transfer to it. He lifted it away and had Castiel check that everything was correct.

It was. Of course it was. The calligraphy was going to be beautiful if Castiel could withstand the pain. Which he could, Castiel was sure. He'd lived through the pain of the wound that created each and every scar, right up until the one that left him with the gouge. A tattoo couldn't be so bad. 

The first line left an unsettling hum and a searing, stinging pain in it's path, as well as a swath of black ink. Tears pricked in the corners of Castiel's eyes. He could do this. He could do this. The heated pain numbed quickly and turned into an irritant, but it still felt like the tattoo machine was grinding the poetry into his rib bones. It was terrible, trying not to hide, trying to be still and allow this. Trying not to cry. Castiel wished more than anything that Dean was here. His Dean, his light, his soul; that's why he was getting the tattoo. So Dean would always be with him, hidden inside the ink on his ribs. There was no crisis, no intent on something drastic, no masochism, just love. Always love and only for Dean. 

After a couple hours, the tattoo was finished. If Castiel's eyes were a little red from tears, the man who tattooed him made no comment. He simply covered it in a bandage and sent Castiel on his way with strict instructions on how care for the tattoo as it healed. Still sore, Castiel made his way home. 

Annabel greeted him at the door with a heartfelt meow and Castiel stopped to scratch her cheeks. He went into the kitchen and made himself lunch. He ate quickly and went into the bathroom to remove the bandage and clean the excess ink and blood from the tattoo. He had just re-bandaged it when he heard the front door open.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice called. Castiel came out of the bathroom. 

“Here,” he said with a smile. Dean strode over to him to give him a kiss and envelope him in a tight hug. 

“Hey,” he murmured. A hiss escaped Castiel's throat as Dean’s arm pressed against his still raw tattoo. “What's wrong?” Dean's eyes were so filled with concern, Castiel couldn't help but feel a wave of affection.

“I, um,” Castiel lifted his shirt to show his bandage. “At that tattoo parlor down the street, they were doing scar cover-ups for free.”

“So you got a _tattoo_ while I was gone?” Dean looked incredulous. Castiel felt an embarrassed blush heat his cheeks. Anxiety fluttered in his chest. 

“Would you like to see?”

 

  
  



	39. Chapter 39

“Dean,” Bobby called across the shop from his office.

“Yeah?” Dean popped his head out from beneath the hood of the car he was working on.

“When you have a minute,” Bobby offered Dean a small smile, “can I see you in my office?”

“Sure thing,” Dean nodded, swallowing hard.

Dean knew that he did not need to have to worry with Bobby. Bobby had told him many times that he was doing a great job at the shop and Dean was fairly certain he hadn’t messed up on any cars lately. He worked hard to make sure that he did every job to perfection, from the amazing cars, all the way down to the shitty cars that people probably just needed to write off as lost causes. Every car received the same Dean Winchester treatment.

Dean worked to finish up what he was working on. He liked to come to complete stops before walking away from a vehicle. There was less chance for error when you finished what you started. Granted, the car he was working on needed a hell of a lot more work, but at least he knew where to pick up when he returned.

“What can I do for ya, Bobby?” Dean asked, stepping into Bobby’s office. All the other guys around the shop would knock, Dean did not give Bobby the same courtesy, only because Bobby told him a while back to knock it off.

“Huh?” Bobby looked up from his computer, squinting. They had just gotten in computers and Bobby had been working with some chick to get it all up and running, it was supposed to help the shop run better. Bobby was not a fan, and neither was Dean. “Oh, right. Shut the door and have a seat.”

“That’s never a good statement,” Dean frowned, shutting the door behind him and moving over to sit in a chair across from Bobby. “What did I do?”

“All good things.” Bobby laughed, obviously sensing Dean’s sudden nervousness. “I wanted to talk to you about some personal things and some business-related matters.”

“Everything okay?” Dean was suddenly more worried about Bobby and the shop than himself.

“Yes,” Bobby nodded his head, “nothing that needs to be seriously worried about.”

“What’s going on?”

“Doctor says I’ve got arthritis pretty bad in my knees and hands,” Bobby frowned. Bobby never was a man for admitting when he was weak or couldn’t do something. “I have noticed it really take a toll on me here at the shop.”

“Are you closing it down?” Dean worried. Was he going to have to find another job? He would, if it meant that Bobby was going to be able to take care of himself.

“I’m hoping I don’t have to,” Bobby offered Dean another small smile. “That is where you come into play.”

“Me?” Dean cocked his head to the side, a habit he had picked up from Castiel. He learned it was a great way at conveying confusion to the masses. 

“I want you to try and buy the shop from me,” Bobby offered. “I can’t just give it to you, I mean, I can, but I think you would prefer to not be working under a crotchety old man forever. I was thinking I could put you in charge, you continue to pay me well enough to live and work up the funds to buy this place from me. If you are interested?”

“Interested?” Dean almost shot up from his seat. “I’m more than interested. I’m in. What do I have to do?”

_____

Dean stayed a few hours after work. Him and Bobby worked out the details of Dean learning the behind the scenes of the shop. He needed to be able to do that things that Bobby did on a daily basis. Dean knew that it was going to be hard work to save up enough money to buy the shop from Bobby and decided that he was going to look into getting a loan.

“Hey, you,” Castiel greeted Dean as he walked through the front door, pulling him in for a kiss. “You’re home late.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Dean sat himself down on the couch and worked to take off his boots. He then moved his way toward the bathroom. He was still not sure how to discuss this all with Castiel. He knew Castiel would be happy for him but he also knew that Castiel would want to help. Dean really needed to be able to do this on his own.

“Sorry?” Castiel followed Dean into the bathroom. They had slightly gotten past giving each other their space, the thought of pushing the other person away growing smaller by the day. Dean both loved and hated how far their relationship had come. He loved that they were together and happy and trusted each other but he hated that he felt the need to open up about his feelings more. He really hated feelings. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Dean turned on the water and began to take off his clothes, hoping it would distract Cas from asking any more questions. Unluckily for Dean, Castiel loved to worry and he was not going to turn the worry off, just because Dean got naked. Though, Dean did watch his eyes continue to sneak glances at his body, which just excited Dean, making him even more nervous about all of this. “Everything is just great.”

“Okay,” Castiel sighed out, accepting Dean’s words for what they were. At least he wasn’t lying. Things were great, they were more than great, they were just complicated and confusing and shit …

“Bobby offered to sell me the shop,” Dean couldn’t keep it inside, he had to tell Cas the news.

“That’s wonderful news,” Castiel smiled, just as Dean stepped himself into a shower. He really had no plans of standing naked and greasy in the bathroom for much of the conversation. “I think you will do fantastically.”

“Yeah,” Dean tilted his head back into the water, taking a deep breath. “It isn’t going to be easy, though. I’m going to have to learn some things, which probably means more hours at the shop, not to mention I am going to have to try and get a business loan. There will be no way for me to save up that amount of money.”

“I can help you with that part,” Castiel quickly offered his assistance, which Dean knew he was going to do.

“No,” Dean shook his head, even though Castiel could not see him. “I have to be able to do this on my own.”

“Why?” Castiel asked and Dean could almost see the tilt of his head, even though he wasn’t even looking in his direction. “I would be more than happy to help you.”

“I know you would,” Dean turned and stuck his head out of the shower, looking over his boyfriend.  _ How did I get so lucky?  _ “This is just something I need to be able to do on my own.”

“I would really like to help you Dean,” Castiel continued, obviously not taking the hint of how important this was to Dean. “If both of us were to attempt to obtain the money, it would probably be a lot easier.”

“No, Cas,” Dean barked with far more vehemence than he intended. “I don’t want your help!”

“Oh,” the defeat in Cas’ voice almost caused Dean to cry, but he meant his words. He did not want Cas to help him with this, he needed to do it on his own. “Okay.”

** Dean struggled to find words. He did not mean to hurt Cas’ feelings but he didn’t know how to express what he was feeling. But it didn’t matter; soon, the door to the bathroom was closing and Dean knew that he was alone.  _ Fuck. _ So much for things being great.   
**


	40. Chapter 40

Castiel went to bed in misery. He was only trying to help. It made no sense for Dean to pour all his life’s savings into something when Castiel could help. Besides, Castiel _wanted_ to help. That's what boyfriends did, right? Castiel tossed and turned unhappily. When Dean finally slid into bed beside him, he turned away. Castiel wanted to reach for him, but something old and deep stayed his hands. The lessons Alistair had tattooed into his soul made Castiel shrink away from Dean and his anger and fall into a nightmare filled slumber. 

The next morning, Castiel woke up early quickly showered and dressed and grabbed an apple on his way out. He set coffee to brew for Dean so as not to annoy him further, but he didn't want to be there when Dean emerged from their bedroom. Castiel walked to work and once there set about finding the poem he would make his students analyze. But he was distracted. He was losing Dean, and it was all his fault. He always knew he would fuck this up. People as broken as Castiel didn't get happiness. The faster he learned that, the better.

Castiel's students immediately picked up on their professor’s inattention and ran amok. Sometimes he couldn't believe that these people were adults who had jobs and were at least partially functional members of society. He took a deep breath and gathered his frazzled thoughts. He needed to do his job. 

“My Life had stood a Loaded Gun,  
In Corners till a Day,  
The Owner passed, identified,  
And carried Me away.  
  
And now We roam in Sovereign Woods,   
And now We hunt the Doe,   
And every time I speak for Him  
The Mountains straight reply.  
  
And do I smile, such cordial light,  
Upon the Valley glow,  
It is as a Vesuvian face,  
Had let it’s pleasure through.  
  
And when at Night - Our good Day done,  
I guard My Master’s Head.   
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s,  
Deep Pillow to have shared.

To foe of His - I’m deadly foe,  
None stir the second time,  
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye,  
Or an emphatic Thumb.

  
Though I than He may longer live,  
He longer must than I,   
For I have but the power to kill,  
Without the power to die.” Castiel recited loudly, regathering his class’s attention. “Now can anyone tell me what Dickenson means?” The room was silent. Castiel strode the length of his amphitheater, waiting. His pacing brought his anxiety to a high point, but he couldn't stop. He would pretend for his students if nothing else.

“Some BDSM thing?” a male student snickered. Castiel fixed him with a firm glare. This particular student was failing his class and refusing all help offered to him.

“Mr. Davies, how singularly vulgar. But, since you were the first to speak up, can you offer an explanation of your proposal?” Castiel asked coolly. The student’s ears turned beat red.

"I, uh, I don't know they sound like they're being owned or whatever.”

"Astute observation. Now, of all we have learned of Dickenson, does this explanation make sense?” Castiel knew he was being too harsh. There was no need to call out this student in front of his peers. Castiel needed to accept that he couldn't make his pupils accept his help. Anger would get him nowhere. 

"Uh,” the student looked mortified.

"Perhaps I can shed some light on the subject,” Castiel relented and launched into a lecture on the influences of Emily Dickenson’s life on her poetry. Dickenson had always brought Castiel a large measure of peace. He'd always liked that her poems were untitled. Sometimes things were so beautiful a title only detracted. Things like that always made Castiel think of Dean. His beauty, his soul. Even angry and confusing as he was, he was still lovely enough to need no title. 

When Castiel returned home, he did so with great trepidation. He didn't want to see Dean and yet, he _needed_ to see Dean. A day without him was a special kind of hell that Castiel hadn't known had existed. But still, Dean was angry and anger was something Castiel was well versed in. He knew better than to do anything but shrink away. He hoped Dean was different. Some part of his brain knew he was, but Castiel couldn't take the risk. He couldn't stand to be near Dean's anger but he would die without him. It was useless.

_Worthless_ , Castiel berated himself in his mind, _stop being such a fucking pussy._ He summoned all his courage to forced his shaking hands to open the door to the apartment. Annabel greeted him as usual and Castiel scooped her into his arms for comfort. Immediately her little chest began to vibrate with purrs. Quietly, Castiel shut the door and ventured further into the apartment and found Dean stirring something on the stove.

"Dean?” Castiel tried his damndest but he couldn't keep the little tremor of fear out of his voice. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean's tone was stilted. 

“I'm sorry. About earlier. I should have just respected your choices.” Castiel hoped he sounded placating. Dean hefted a sigh.

"I guess. It's okay, Cas.” He turned to face Castiel. He didn't seem angry anymore. Castiel wanted desperately to go to him, to melt against his chest and kiss his warm lips. He wanted to feel Dean’s heat against his body, and make love to him so gently he didn't have to proclaim his feelings. Just the two of them, a poem better left untitled.   
Castiel remained rooted to his spot.

"Well I suppose I'll go take a shower before dinner,” Castiel hedged. Dean turned back to the stove.

“Sounds good.”

"Thank you.” Castiel set Annabel down and hurried into the relative safety of the bathroom. Once there, he allowed tears to leak from his eyes. What had he done? They were so awkward now. Things had been going so well…

Why did Castiel always have to fuck things up. Him and Dean were so good. Castiel would never deserve it. But now, now he had to fix it. Dean was his light, his savior, his heart, and he'd do anything to keep it that way. He'd go to hell and back if only Dean asked him to. He needed to fix this. Castiel disrobed and stepped into the shower. The only question was how?

 


	41. Chapter 41

Dean hated how things had turned sour so quickly between him and Castiel. All he had wanted was for Castiel to be excited for him, without trying to help. He wanted the help, he needed the help, he wanted Castiel to help him, but he couldn’t let him. Not taking help was not because he did not want to share in this with Castiel, or that he didn’t want the help, it was him, needing to prove to himself, that he could do this. Dean Winchester could be successful in life without someone else. He had always been able to be his own person. He had always been able to do what he needed to do without asking for help. But then again, he had also always been alone. At least, in the ways in which it mattered.

So, when Castiel walked out of the kitchen and headed for the bathroom, Dean’s heart broke a little. How had he been so stupid? Why could he just not accept the good things in his life for what they were … good. No, they were great. He had a great job that he loved and was soon going to be taking over and he was in love with an amazing man. His family was accepting of his life and things were on the up. Things had never been on the up. Now, here he was, sitting at the top and all he could seem to do was thrust himself back toward the bottom.

_ You deserve this Dean.  _ Sam’s voice echoed through Dean’s head again. It had been happening so much he assumed he was crazy, but in a way, it made sense. Sam had always been Dean’s reasoning; even in death, he knew what was best for Dean.  _ He deserves this too though. _

Dean turned off the stove, pulling the not-quite done soup off to the side, it would be salvageable. He then made his way toward the bathroom, stopping along the way to pet Annabel as she stepped into his path. At first, it seemed like she was trying to stop him but her purrs washed away the panic. He would never admit it out loud, but he loved the little fur ball, almost as much as he loved the man on the other side of the door. No, there was no getting close to that kind of love.

“Cas,” Dean knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open, boundaries be damned. “Can I talk with you for a moment?”

“Yes,” Castiel’s voice seemed frail and distant. Dean could sense that he felt the worst was about to come but that was not Dean’s intention.

Dean opened his mouth to start talking but then quickly closed it. He didn’t want to do this was a curtain standing between them. He needed to do this face to face. He could wait, but then he was already stripped out of his work clothes, so why not get it over with? Dean kicked off the remainder of his clothes and pulled back the curtain, stepping in before Castiel could protest. The look of pure confusion in Castiel’s eyes produced a small laugh from Dean.  _ How did I get so lucky? _

__ __ “Dean?” Castiel remained still, obviously trying to work through the situation at hand. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing,” Dean moved forward and pulled Castiel into him, finally getting some of the water against his skin, which was appreciated because he was starting to grow rather cold.          

“For what?” Castiel cocked his head to the side and Dean took advantage of the moment, pushing forward and kissing at Castiel’s now exposed neck. This caused Cas to shake, his words having a little trouble escaping his mouth. “You … did … nothing … wrong.”

“You are a horrible liar,” Dean laughed into Castiel’s neck before working his way up to his jaw, finally finding his mouth. He kissed him softly at first and then hard, turning them so that Castiel’s back was against the wall. He whimpered at the cold but made no effort to push Dean away. “You know as well as I do, that I messed up.”

“You were just telling me what you wanted,” Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, holding Dean to him, as if trying to stop Dean from leaving him. As if Dean would ever leave Castiel, especially when they were naked and pressed together. “I should have accepted that, but I pushed. I didn’t mean to push.”

“I like it when you push,” Dean gave Castiel a smirk and pushed his hips into Castiel, knowing it was probably not the best time to be sexual but Dean couldn’t help himself. How could he not be excited right now? “Don’t ever stop pushing.” Dean thought about this, he needed to make it a little less sexual so Castiel knew that he meant it in all ways. “Don’t ever stop pushing me. I succeed when you push me.”

“Dean,” Castiel leaned his head back against the wall, moaning at Dean’s thrusts against his body. Hopefully Dean had gotten the message across because his brain was no longer focused on working this out. All he wanted was to watch Castiel come undone.

“I love you,” Dean almost whispered the words but he knew Castiel heard them, from the rise in his chest. Dean leaned down and began kissing at his neck again, working down toward his shoulders. “I need you.”

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel ran his hands along Dean’s arms and shoulders.

Dean worked his way along Castiel’s shoulders, before moving down to his chest. He trailed his kisses lightly, flicking his tongue over Castiel’s nipples as he worked his way back and forth between the two. He then began to move down further, having to drop to his knees. This caused a deep groan to leave Castiel’s mouth and Dean couldn’t help but become even more excited.

When Dean came face to face with Castiel’s scar, the one just above his hip bone, the one that seemed to really break Castiel down. Dean did the only thing he could; he kissed it, trailing them back and forth across the length of it. Castiel tensed up, but the longer Dean did it, the more relaxed Castiel came beneath him, until he was moaning at the sensation. Dean smiled into Castiel’s stomach. He wanted Castiel to not have to hide from him or be ashamed.

“I love all of you,” Dean made sure to speak loud enough, so Castiel could hear him over the water that separated them. “Even the slightly broken parts.”

“What if I can’t love the broken parts of me?” Dean could hear the shutter in his voice. He knew that Castiel had worked hard at accepting his scars, even going as far as covering one up with a tattoo. Maybe he needed to do that to the rest of the scars.

“That’s okay,” Dean leaned forward, kissing along the scar before dropping down a little further, his kissing now trailing up the inside of Castiel’s thigh. “I will love them enough for both of us.”


	42. Chapter 42

Dean’s lips were on Castiel’s thighs and he could do nothing but keen. The water was warm and the tiles were cold, and Dean’s mouth was gentle. The sensations sent a Molotov cocktail of feeling rocketing into Castiel. Dean raised his head to lap deliciously at Castiel’s tumescent length, but Castiel forced himself to push Dean away. Dean looked up at him, at once worried and hurt.

“Dean, please,” Castiel whispered, “my pleasure is nothing without yours.” He pulled Dean up by his shoulders and hugged him fiercely. Dean gripped him right back and began to slowly rock their hips together. A stream of little sounds escaped Castiel’s lips unbidden as their water slick lengths slid against one another. Castiel nestled against Dean as best he could with increasingly frantic thrusts undulating his spine. 

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean groaned as he came, spattering Castiel’s front with warm release and prompting Castiel to come as well with Dean’s name on his tongue. They collapsed against each other, wet and sticky as warm honey. 

Castiel's eyes filled with tears. His scar ached and his back was pressed to the cold tile and he was just so lucky to have Dean here with him. He hadn't ruined it. Not yet. Dean gently turned him around so he was under the spray of the shower and used a forgotten wash rag on the floor to clean his stomach off. Castiel returned the favor and Dean pressed a kiss against his wet hair.

“Cas?”

“Hm?” Castiel had been entranced in tracing over Dean’s well muscled by albeit heavily scarred abdomen.

“I really _could_ use some help.” Castiel rose to his feet and kissed Dean fiercely. 

“I'll give you all the help I can.” Dean gave him a sugary kiss on the cheek. 

“I know you will, Cas.” 

After another embrace, they took turns washing each other’s hair and scrubbing each other’s backs. They left the shower, over-warm in the steamed over bathroom. Dean hugged Castiel tightly from behind.

“What's this for?” Castiel laughed as he tucked his towel more snugly around his waist. 

“You're just awesome.” Dean purred. His bit down on Castiel's neck in a playful nip. It was a playful nip. Castiel knew what it was. Dean was trying to arouse him again. That's all it was. That's all it was. But that wasn't all it was. Not to Castiel. But he'd created this whole mess and he'd be damned if he created another. 

"Is that so?” Castiel arched an eyebrow and forced his body to stay relaxed. 

“Round two?” Dean's voice was saucy and playful. He canted himself against Castiel's back and Castiel could feel his grin and his joy. He relaxed. He turned in Dean’s arms and returned Dean’s grin with the truest smile he could muster.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” Dean bumped their hips and grabbed his hand. Castiel was willfully dragged into the bedroom to the wild, wonderful world that was sex with Dean. There was nothing in the universe like Dean’s body surrounding him. He hoped one day that he'd be able to allow Dean inside him. He'd offered once, but now that felt like a bluff. He couldn't be exposed like that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Castiel shook himself. He wasn't supposed to be afraid. He was supposed to be rocking into Dean. 

And rock into Dean he did, over and over, until he was spilling deep inside him and Dean was striping both of them in come.   
“I suppose that shower was pointless, seeing as we just dirtied ourselves all over again,” Castiel chuckled after the glow had faded and they'd wiped themselves off with tissues. 

“I guess we gotta take another one,” Dean said lewdly, even as he waggled his eyebrows and mirth crinkled his eyes.

“Ugh,” Castiel pushed his face away, “I certainly won't be able to get it up a third time.”

"Ye of little faith,” Dean joked. Silence fell for a moment and then it was ruptured when Castiel's stomach rumbled. 

 

“See? There are more important things, such as dinner, for example.”

"Well I guess I could go and try to revive my soup.” Dean gave Castiel a meaningful look. Castiel hefted a mock aggrieved sigh.

“I suppose we can order in.” Dean grinned. 

“I'll go get my pants on. Pizza?”

"As long as there is at least one vegetable.”

“Tomato sauce is a vegetable.” Dean gave Castiel a solemn look. Castiel tried to sigh again, but his smiled made it impossible.

“Shoo, then. Bring me food.”

"Bossy,” a now fully clothed Dean leaned over and kissed his lips. “I like it.”  
Dinner consisted of a meat lover's pizza from the shop down the street. It was lightly sprinkled with basil which, Dean proudly told Castiel, was green and therefore a vegetable. They play fought and bickered right up until they got ready to go to sleep. As Dean slipped under the covers beside Castiel, Castiel counted his blessings. He was lucky to have Dean Winchester in his bed. More than lucky, he was unworthy. But here he was. Castiel smiled and he fell asleep against the man he loved. 

_Alastair stood over Castiel. Castiel couldn't move. He couldn't move, he couldn't move. He needed to run. He needed to flee, but he was paralyzed. He couldn't scream. No one would have cared, even if he could. He had no voice. He was naked, shaking and defenseless.  
Alastair's knife glinted. It was his favorite. Long black handle of bone or some such ghastliness. Wicked blade so serrated and of such a dark grey color, it looked like it was cast from smoke. Smoke from hellfire, Castiel had always privately thought._

_“Cassie, Cassie, it's time for our favorite game,” Alastair purred. Castiel tried to struggle. “All you have to say is mercy, and I'll stop.” With that, he brought his blade so that it brushed the sensitive skin above Castiel’s hip, already blood dark with a bruise. Tears fell in rivers down Castiel’s cheeks. He was practically vibrating from his shivers. He couldn't breathe. The blade sank into his flesh deeply, until only the tips of the serration were visible. Castiel couldn't even scream, though his throat felt raw. The pain was vicious and vivid, a bright surging, searing pain, throbbing with his pulse._

_Alastair paused and waited with cruel smile. When Castiel couldn't create the words, he started again, widening the wound. He did this thrice more, until Castiel had no tears left, just a puffy, wet face and heaving breaths that barely sucked in air. Alastair raised his blade for another slice when Castiel was finally,_ finally _able to produce a choked_

_“Mercy.” Alastair stopped and grinned madly. He tossed the blade aside and began to undo his belt. Castiel’s whole body seized up and he shut his eyes against what was to come.  
_

_“I'll grant you your mercy, Cassie, just you wait.”_

“Cas?”

Castiel was brought back to consciousness by a hand on his shoulder. A hand. Castiel, still not fully awake panicked. His gouge ached. His face was wet with tears, and his throat was raw, and he was tangled in the sheets. Nonetheless he bolted out of bed and into a corner. Just as he curled into a ball he saw Dean. His lovely Dean looking sleep ruffled and so, so concerned. Castiel lowered his head to his arms and his sobs began afresh. What was wrong with him? What was _wrong_ with him?


	43. Chapter 43

             Dean had known, almost from the beginning, that things had once been rough for Castiel. Rough was not even the right word for it. His body was littered in scars from whatever it was that had happened to him. At first, Dean felt it was their scars that were bringing them together. Dean was covered in scars that he was still working on getting passed; not to mention all the physical therapy he still had to attend every other week. He had to get himself back up to par and make sure things were healing properly. But that wasn’t the point. The one thing that he felt was holding them together was the one thing that was also keeping them apart.

Dean gave Castiel his space when it came to his scars. He worked to continue to get to know his boyfriend without things getting too deep into his past. When Castiel was ready, he would tell Dean. At least, that is what Dean kept telling himself. So, when Castiel came home with a tattoo covering one of his scars and didn’t pull away when Dean tried to show him that he loved him, scars and all by kissing them, he thought things were getting better, but they weren’t.

“Cas,” Dean slipped himself off the bed and sat on the floor in front of Castiel.

He didn’t reach forward, scared that Castiel would pull away, or worse, run away. Dean had just gotten him back after their little mishap, he wasn’t ready for it to be pulled out from under his feet once again. Though, maybe they had never gotten their feet back.

“I am so sorry, Dean,” Castiel continued to sob into his arms. “I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

Dean slowly reached out and placed his hand on top of Castiel’s, slowly lacing their fingers together. When Castiel didn’t pull away, Dean smiled. This was not a moment for smiling, but Castiel was not running away and that was more than Dean could ask for. That meant that things could get better, they could get through this as well.

“I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” Dean squeezed Castiel’s fingers before letting them go and bringing himself to his feet.

Dean filled a glass and took a drink, making sure to refill it again. He wanted to help but he didn’t know what to do. He was messed up himself, how was he supposed to help someone else? How could he stop Castiel’s nightmares, when he continued to have his? How could he try and make him forget about his scars when Dean could remember with such accuracy how he received his own?

“Dean?”

Dean looked up to see Castiel standing over him. He broke eye contact and looked around him. How had he ended up sitting on the floor in the kitchen?

“Castiel?” Dean looked back up at Castiel. “I … uh,” Dean looked down at the full glass of water sitting beside him. “I got you water.”

“You have been gone for a while,” Castiel brought himself to his knees in front of Dean. “I thought you left.” Castiel relaxed onto his legs and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.”

“I’m not leaving,” Dean locked eyes with Castiel. “Tell me that you know that.”

“I,” Castiel looked as if he were going to say something but nothing more came out. Castiel finally looked away.

“Cas,” Dean brought himself to his own knees, sitting directly in front of Castiel, their knees touching. “Look at me.”

“Dean,” Castiel brought his eyes back up to Dean’s, new tears forming.

“No,” Dean reached forward and grabbed Castiel’s hands. “You need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Castiel didn’t speak, he only nodded his agreement.

“Good,” Dean squeezed Castiel’s fingers again.

Every time Dean had allowed for himself to fully love someone, or to admit that he loved someone, they left or died. Tonight, he had admitted to Castiel that he loved him but he wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. He was not going to let these amazing words ruin the best thing he had ever had.

“Damn it,” Dean shook his head, breaking eye contact for a moment before working to get it back. “I am a complete asshole. I lash out. I get wrapped up in myself. I make stupid decisions that hurt your feelings and then kind of beg for forgiveness later, which is the biggest dick move I can make. I spent too many hours at the shop. I do a lot of shitty things that would kill most relationships. But you stay here. You refuse to leave me. You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Thanks,” Castiel tried to laugh but it was cut off by the gasps for air between sobs.

“I am a mess and a total lost cause,” Dean continued. “But you refuse to leave me. You refuse to let the darkness I see in myself destroy us.”

“You are so full of light,” Castiel took a deep breath. “I don’t see any darkness.”

“It’s there,” Dean frowned, but then forced a smile. “But I love that you refuse to see the dark in me, even though, I know you see it at times. Just like I can see the dark in you. The way your eyes shut off when I touch you a little harder than I should. But they come back, immediately, they come back.”

“I don’t mean to get scared or panic,” Castiel tried to defend his actions but Dean shushed him.

“It’s okay,” Dean promised. “I get it. I completely get it.”

“But you would never hurt me,” Castiel said aloud, though Dean was not sure if it was for Dean or for himself at this point.

“Do you know why?”

“Why?” Castiel brought his eyes back up to Dean’s.

“Because I love you.” Dean reminded Castiel, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. “I love you so damn much that I am going to fight for you. I am going to show you that just because I am an asshole, doesn’t mean I am a horrible person. You say you already know this about me but I am still going to prove it to you every day.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me,” Castiel looked more confused than Dean had ever seen him. “I feel like I need to prove myself to you.”

“What?” Dean thought back on all that had happened recently. Castiel had been nothing but amazing to him. Dean was the problem they needed to work on. Castiel was already perfect.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the hiatus, dearest readers! We will soon get into our new equilibrium and begin posting more regularly again. In any case, thanks for sticking around, we will make it worth your while. Happy reading!

At the bewilderment in Dean’s eyes, Castiel crawled closer and rested his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. For a moment he couldn’t speak, only relish in the warm solidness of Dean.

“Ah, my love,” Castiel murmured. He wished they could just go back to bed and forget this all happened. He wished the tremors that rippled his muscles would stop and he could go back to sleep with Dean. But he couldn’t, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t. Dean deserved more. And better. He deserved so much more than the broken wretch that Castiel was. 

“Cas,” Dean said sweetly, and repositioned them so Castiel’s form was cradled in his lap.

“Ask away,” Castiel implored him with a kiss to his neck.

“What do you mean?” Castiel could hear Dean’s frown. He nuzzled Dean’s stubble rough jaw. 

“My scars. I know you want answers on them. Ask away.”

“Cas, I don’t want you to tell me this until you’re ready,” Dean’s voice was at once stern and loving and Castiel melted more deeply into him.

But the kitchen floor had to be hard on Dean, especially holding him like this, so he reluctantly got to his feet and helped Dean up. Hand in hand, they went back to bed, slid beneath the covers and snuggled right up against each other.

“Dean, my love, my everything, I want to tell you. Ask your questions.” Dean didn’t say a word, but he traced the tattoo on Castiel’s ribs meaningfully.

“That was the first scar Alastair ever gave me. It was at the height of our first time having...our first time being intimate. I didn’t even see that he had the knife. Not until he slashed me with it. Relatively speaking, it was the smallest cut he ever gave me. It hurt, I bled, and he swore never to do it again. Like a fool, I believed him.” Castiel couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from his tone. Dean dropped a loving kiss on his cheek.

“You don’t have to tell me all this, Cas.”

“I’m sorry. Is it too gruesome?” Castiel was immediately alarmed and he soothingly stroked over Dean’s chest. 

“Cas, I’ve been to war. I’ve seen lots worse. I don’t want you to think you have to tell me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you everything,” Castiel argued. Dean sighed gently against his skin. 

“Fine. Tell me...tell me about this one.” Dean’s fingers sank into the gouge.

“That’s the last scar Alastair ever gave me. Before I manned up and crawled away.” 

“Oh, Cas,” Dean mumbled. His lips pressed against Castiel’s neck and his tongue flickered out between them, making Castiel shiver. 

“The wound was so deep, so bloody. The pain was so great I was numb with it. It still hurts from time to time. But Alastair’s words. His voice. It is and forever may be fodder for my nightmares,” Castiel paused “I’m sorry for that, Dean.”

Dean didn’t reply. He captured Castiel’s mouth in a loving kiss that turned into many that trailed open-mouthed down Castiel’s neck and over his chest. Castiel gasped and groaned, curling into Dean to kiss his neck back. 

“Can you grab the lube?” Dean’s voice, husky and warm as chocolate whispered in Castiel’s ear, just before teeth came down in a gentle bite on the earlobe. Dean rolled his hips meaningfully against Castiel’s thigh.

“Dean, I trust you,” Castiel whispered, even as his insides trembled. Dean pulled away to look into Castiel’s eyes. He ran his thumb in a smooth stroke over Castiel’s cheek bone. 

“Thank you, Cas.” Castiel nuzzled into his hand to steady himself.

“Dean, would you like to be inside me?”

There. He asked. Castiel’s heart pounded but he knew this was right. He was just so sick and fucking tired of his thoughts being filled with fear and Alistair. He wanted new memories. He wanted Dean. Dean pulled back. He rubbed the back of his head nervously. Castiel’s heart sank. 

“Cas...don’t take this the wrong way, but...what if I hurt you? I’ve never done this before.” Castiel petted Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m scared of that too. But I want this. I trust you, and it’s about damn time I show it.” Castiel reached for the lube in the bedside table.

“But, I don’t know how to prep you…” Dean trailed off as his cheeks flushed sheepishly.  
“I can prep myself,” Castiel said as he squirted lube onto his fingers, “you can watch, if you want,” he added shyly. In lieu of a reply, Dean pushed the covers away from them both and sat back on his knees to observe. Castiel’s cheeks heated under the attention, but he was determined, so he reached between his own legs for his hole. 

His prep was slow and painstaking. His body remembered only the potential pain in penetration, and though in his mind he desired Dean within him, Castiel needed much more time to relax his muscles to allow Dean entrance into his body.   
Dean, for his part, was endlessly patient. He reverently stroked Castiel’s thighs while Castiel tried to urge his body into doing his bidding. Dean’s fingers unexpectedly wrapped around his length and Castiel’s body drooped in ecstasy, finally not tense.

“Dean, I’m ready. You can, um…” Castiel gestured to himself. Now was not a time for crudeness and he couldn’t bring the names of his most intimate parts to his lips. Dean understood anyway. He was endearingly blush dappled as he took the offered lube and slicked himself up before lining up against Castiel. 

“Cas, you’re really sure…?” Dean ran his knuckles against Castiel’s stomach as if to say that he wouldn’t be angry if Castiel couldn’t go all the way. Castiel nodded his consent. He could do this. It was Dean, not Alistair. There was no monster in the room. Just the man he loved. 

Dean slid into him. 

Tension crept into Castiel’s jaw. Then his chest and his limbs. Then the trembling set in. His body remembered what his mind fought to forget. Castiel swore his gouge throbbed more painfully than it ever had before. His breaths became a laborious activity as his lungs seized. The world became fizzy around the edges. Then gentle fingers came to rest on his cheek. A warm body laid atop his. Lips shaped love on his neck. A hot, throbbing, beloved cock remained within him.

“Cas,” Dean whispered huskily, “tell me a poem.” He rolled his hips and pleasure rockets through Castiel’s body. His mind was set alight and he knew what to say. 

“Ornamental clouds compose an evening love song; the road leaves evasively. The new moon begins.” Dean’s thrusts were steady. Each word was forced out between pants and moans. “A new chapter of our nights, of those frail nights, we stretch out and mingle with these black horizontals.”

“Cas,” Dean groaned as his hips stuttered and he came. Castiel was not far behind, with Dean’s name like good whiskey on his tongue. 

Dean pulled out of Castiel and tenderly cleaned them both with tissues. Then he drew the covers around them and snuggled close against Castiel’s side. For a while, they laid awake, basking in each other and the afterglow. 

“Dean?” Castiel said after some time.

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice was a rumble against Castiel’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.” An uncomfortable pause permeated the room for a moment. “I mean, it was kind of awesome.”

“I agree.”

“But Cas?”

“Hm?”

“You...you’ll still top sometimes, right?” Castiel could almost hear Dean’s blush. 

“Oh, yes. I enjoy that too.”

“Okay.” Dean sounded reassured.

“I love you, Dean.”

“Love you, too.”

A pleasant sleep dragged them beneath its undulating waves.   
  



	45. 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it has taken me so long to get my chapter up. With work, kids and that damn flu virus running around, I have not really been able to focus. But, I finally did it. We hope you all enjoy.

             The next few weeks seemed to flow effortlessly. Castiel had been busy with classes and Dean had been busy getting things in line with the shop. He promised himself one thing though; he was going to be home in time for dinner, and he was. They would take turns making dinner and talking about their days. Some nights ended in cuddling, while others were a little more passionate. It was a blissful domestic feeling that Dean never imagined himself to have. But Dean wanted to do more, wanted to prove himself more to Cas, show him that he was not going anywhere and how Cas was everything to Dean. Cas told him repeatedly that proof was not necessary but, to Dean, it was. He needed Cas to know.

          “Hey,” Ellen greeted Dean the moment he walked through the door of the Roadhouse. “Long time.”

          “I know,” Dean gave her an apologetic smile and took a seat at the bar. “Been busy.”

          “That’s what I hear,” Ellen smiled back at him, obviously not angry at his lack of visiting. “Bobby told me you got that loan to buy the shop. I am proud of you boy. Always knew you were meant for bigger things.”

          “I never really pictured anything for myself,” Dean admitted. If anyone know of Dean’s insecurities in life, it was Ellen. “But I can’t say I’m not happy about how things are coming together.”

          “You did good, kid,” She said as she placed a glass of water in front of him. “How’s that man of yours?”

          “He is good, we are good,” Dean smiled again. “That is actually why I am here.”

          “What can I do for you?”

          “Do you still have my guitar?” Dean asked shyly. He stopped playing music a long time ago.

_____

          “Why are we getting dressed up for the Roadhouse?” Cas asked again as they got ready for their evening out.

          “Is it wrong of me to want to look nice for you?” Dean tried to hide all of his emotions about the night as he pulled on his boots.

          It was not like they were dressing up in suits with ties. They were just not going out in the clothes they had worn to work that day. Dean had on a nice pair of jeans, ones that didn’t have any holes in them or grease stains on the back. That and a dark red and black plaid button up over a black shirt. It was not really fancy but for Dean, it was nice. Cas on the other hand stuck with a pair of slacks with a white button up. Now he looked stunning.

          “No,” Castiel shook his head, moving to the bathroom to finish getting ready. “It just seems odd.”

          “Just get ready,” Dean laughed. “We have to be there by eight.”

          “Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Castiel returned to the room, curiosity all over his face. “You are acting strange.”

          “I just told Ellen we would be there by eight,” Dean assured him. “Don’t want her to think we aren’t going to show.”

          “Fine,” Castiel threw up his hands in defeat. “I’ll get ready.”

          “Thank you,” Dean leaned forward and kissed him quickly, nudging him toward the bathroom.

          Thirty minutes later and they were pulling into the parking lot of the Roadhouse. It was Friday night, so it was already packed and Dean found himself having trouble parking. Even the reserved for family parking in the back had filled up.

          “So much for benefits of being family,” Dean grumbled to himself when he finally found a spot, further away than he would have liked. “Ellen needs to put signs up.”

          “We found a spot,” Castiel reached over and grabbed Dean’s hand, squeezing it with his own. “That’s what’s important.”

          “Yeah, yeah,” Dean shook his head with a laugh. “Let’s get in there. Probably no tables either.”

          “We can eat our burgers standing up then,” Castiel joked as they walked toward the front door.

          Just as Dean suspected, there was not a table in sight. Ellen greeted them and apologized but he shook his head. It was not her fault that there wasn’t a table. He could have chosen a night that he knew would not be as busy but then again, he had kind of hoped for the crowd.

          Ellen finally got them a table and they ate dinner, yelling to one another in order to hear themselves over the noise.

          “I will be right back,” Dean stood to excuse himself once they were done eating.

          “Okay,” Castiel acknowledged.

          Dean made his way toward the bar and grabbed his guitar from behind the counter. Ellen gave him a smile and Jo gave him a thumbs up. His nerves were going crazy in his stomach, but he had to do this, it was important. He then snuck his way around the bar toward the slight stage area that Ellen used when bands would play on occasion.

          “I want to introduce you,” Ellen appeared beside him before he took the stage.

          “Ellen,” Dean nearly whined.

          “You are going to let me do this boy,” She shot him a stare that he knew all to well, so he slumped back and let her lead the way.

          “Excuse me,” Ellen spoke into the microphone, silencing the bar. That only made the nerves get worse. “Tonight, we have a little treat for you all. He hasn’t graced us with his talent for many years and we are glad to have him back. So, if you will all give a round of applause, I would like to welcome Dean Winchester to the stage.”

          “Way to embarrass me,” Dean glared at her as he made the stage but quickly put on a smile for everyone watching.

          He didn’t care about any of them though. He only cared about the man sitting at a table only a few feet away from him.

          Cas was watching Dean intently, his head cocked to the side in the way that Dean had grown to love just as much as he loved the man doing it. He knew that Castiel had questions but he was about to answer them all.

          “Uh, hi,” Dean spoke into the microphone, willing his nerves to go away. “I uh, I haven’t done this in a long time, so bear with me.”

          Dean pulled the strap of his guitar over his shoulder and positioned himself on a stool. Sitting down had always made playing and singing easier.

          “I wrote this song for someone in my life who doesn’t seem to realize just how much they mean to me,” Dean shot a glance and a small smile in the direction of Castiel. “Maybe now you will see.”

_I never really felt like much_  
_This world was killing me_  
_Took away the things I loved_  
_Until the tears were blinding me_  
_I fought_  
_I lied_  
_I gave up_  
_Prayed death would take me_  
_But then a letter came along_  
_Angel, of Thursday  
_ _You saved me._

_Bombs and blasts and a muddy ditch_  
_The world was getting bleak_  
_I screamed_  
_I cried_  
_I watched men die_  
_My mind was growing weak_  
_But then a letter came along_  
_Angel, of Thursday  
_ _You saved me_

_Your wings are scarred around the edges_  
_You have fallen from the sky_  
_Not a day comes along_  
_When you aren’t asking why?_  
_Why the grace you once held brightly_  
_Was stripped away from you_  
_But I responded long ago_  
_Maybe_  
_Maybe  
_ _I have saved you too_

_I fought_  
_I lied_  
_I gave up_  
_Prayed death would take me_  
_I screamed_  
_I cried_  
_I watched men die_  
_My mind was growing weak  
_ _But then your letter came along_

_We’ve fought._  
_We’ve cried._  
_We’ve nearly give up._  
_But now it’s time you see_  
_The day that letter came along_  
_Angel, of Thursday  
_ _You saved me._

_You saved me._

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: We do not own nor claim to own Supernatural or the characters therein. They belong to the CW network and Eric Kripke. We also do not own the lyrics at the beginning. They belong to the band Kansas. All rights reserved. We make no monetary benefit from this story.
> 
> Please, enjoy!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] On The Other Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497744) by [justaddgigi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaddgigi/pseuds/justaddgigi)




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